Abandoned
by Jennifer Campbell
Summary: Buffy's desperation to feel puts her and Spike in a bad situation. S/B. Spoilers through "Tabula Rasa." COMPLETED
1. "I need to feel"

**Title:** Abandoned  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  
**Spoilers:** Through "Tabula Rasa"  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** R -- for language and nongraphic sex  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Author's notes:** This could be a fairly short story or the start of something longer. I guess it all depends on whether there's interest in seeing more. So if you like, please let me know.

# 

Spike spotted her easily enough, sitting alone at the bar without even a drink to drown her sorrows in. He watched from the shadows beneath the stairs, his hands deep in the pockets of his duster. So he had found her, after they had regained their memories and she'd run off. What better place for her to hide than among the riotous crowds and smokey haze of the Bronze.

He steeled himself, smoothed his palms over his hair and started toward her. As he drew closer, he wondered what he could say or do to erase the pain he knew he would see on her beautiful face. The pain of absolute loss and betrayal by those she trusted most. Now she trusted him. He had to say _something_, but what, he had no clue.

As it was, he didn't need a word. Spike stopped beside her but didn't sit down. Instead he simply stood there, patient, waiting for her acknowledgement. His presence roused her from her stupor, and she looked at him with dead eyes, only for a moment before turning the other way, rejecting him and all the comfort and love he had to offer.

Typical. So what had he expected? Buffy would never fall into his arms and give herself to him in total, uninhibited abandon. She had closed herself off to him, again.

Fine then. He didn't need this shit tonight, her hot-cold roller-coaster better-than-thou attitude. She could bloody well fend for herself. Wallow in misery and jump off a soddin cliff for all he cared. No man, or vampire, could endure so much.

Spike stormed away, weaving among giggling high schoolers and half-drunk twenty-somethings. He had to get out of here, away from all these ungrateful people who had no inkling of everything she had sacrificed to keep them safe and cozy, to protect them from monsters like himself. Maybe he could find a few vamps to pummel before sunrise.

He had almost reached the exit when two small but strong hands grabbed his shoulders from behind and spun him around. Buffy glared at him, and he gaped. She had followed him, but why? Her warm palms pressed against his chest and pushed him back until he hit a wall.

"Buffy, luv, what are you doing?"

"Shut up, Spike," she said, her voice trembling a little.

Then he saw it, her desperation. It called to him through every fiber of her body as she pressed against him and tilted her lips towards his. So he did have something she needed, after all.

He ran his fingers through her hair, then cupped the back of her neck and pulled her closer. Her gloss tasted like strawberries. Spike grazed her lips tentatively at first, gently, but she would have none of it. Buffy deepened the kiss, one hand tightening on his forearm and the other sliding under his duster to rest lightly on his waist.

This surely was heaven. Buffy so close to him, her scent of arousal surrounding him. And yet, as they drew apart so she could breathe, as she crushed herself against him again, a sliver of doubt pricked at the back of his mind. He couldn't banish the feeling that something here wasn't right.

At this moment, though, with his beloved in his arms, it didn't matter.

#

The next night:

Spike paced his crypt like a caged beast. He occasionally drained a beer and smashed the empty bottle against the wall, but the acts of violence did little to sate the rage broiling under his cold skin. Broken green and brown glass littered the floor -- too bad it would do little good to slit his wrists with it.

She hadn't come. For the first night in weeks, she hadn't visited his crypt while on patrol, to spill out her troubles and fears and torments. No, she was avoiding him now, because he wanted to talk about _them_ instead of just _her_.

How could Buffy play with him like this? One moment so lustful and needy and the next ... In her own way, the girl was more demonic than Drusilla. At least Dru had never refused to admit to her emotions, had never toyed with him. Well, she hadn't until those last few months, after they first came to Sunnydale.

Last night at the Bronze, though, only a few hours ago ...

__

Spike had broken off the kiss and tried, but failed, to regain control of himself. He wanted nothing more than to take Buffy back to his crypt, throw her onto the bed and love her all night, but that wasn't what they needed right now.

Buffy's hands glided down his back, her nails scratching through his thin cotton T-shirt. She lifted her lips to his, and it took every ounce of Spike's self-control to stop from devouring her again.

"Buffy, we -- we have to -- talk," he managed to get out between kisses. He pulled away from her. "We have to talk, pet."

"No talk," she murmured. "More kissing."

"This thing between us, we need to discuss it. It's not that I don't enjoy these make-out sessions, but I need to know why? And why now?"

Her grip on his T-shirt loosened. She took a step back, and Spike could have sobbed for the loss of her touch. Buffy raised her eyebrows in that little gesture that always preceded a spiteful comment.

"This isn't good enough for you?" she spat. "I'm_ not good enough for you? Is that it?"_

"What? No, Buffy, you know I love you. And I love kissing you, but -- "

"Forget it. Just forget it, Spike." She stalked a couple steps away, then came back with arms crossed. "You know, I thought you of all my friends would actually care_ about me. I thought you would give me what I need."_

"And what's that, luv?"

She glared at him, pursed her lips, then turned and left. With a frustrated growl, Spike smashed his fist into the wall, ignored the yelps of the people standing around him. Chips of plaster drifted to the floor; the bloody pain of his knuckles served to clear his head. He raced outside after her, but Buffy had vanished.

... Spike rubbed his thumb over his knuckles, now healed. He wished his vampire powers would mend the hurt inside as easily. Only time would do that, and a whole lot of alcohol. He wandered to the fridge for another beer, popped the top and took a long drink.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made him turn. Buffy stood in the doorway, watching him with an amused smile. He could only stare, open-mouthed. She had let her hair down this evening in golden waves over her shoulders, and she wore a spaghetti-strap sundress and strappy white sandals. Rarely had she looked so vulnerable, or so beautiful. In an instant, he forgot why he had been angry with her.

Her eyes darted between Spike and the mess of jagged glass in the corner.

"Are you drunk?" she asked.

"It takes a lot more than this to get me drunk." He set the beer down and sauntered toward her, his eyes traveling the length of her body. "That's not exactly a practical outfit for slaying. And isn't a bit late for you to be out and about? Shouldn't you be in bed, counting sheep or something?"

"Can't sleep. You know I have trouble falling asleep."

"Yeah, it can be a bit traumatic, waking up in a box, six feet underground. But you'll get over it eventually."

"And you know that because ..."

"Because I did."

She snorted. "And that has nothing to do with the fact that you're a soulless vampire, and dead, and supposed to be buried. While I'm --"

Her voice trailed off, and she bowed her head, the tough Slayer exterior slipping away. She suddenly looked lost, like a child in need of reassurance. Spike yearned to enfold her in his arms and whisper to her that everything would be all right, but they both would know it for a lie. He brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek.

"Go on," he said. "Say it."

"I can't."

"Then I will. You're alive, Buffy."

She shook her head. "No, I'm not. Being alive means feeling things, like love and hate and passion. It means going through each day happy that I'm still breathing. But I'm not happy, or sad either. I'm just ... numb." She looked up at him. "The only time I feel anything is when I'm with you."

"So why fight me?" he asked, his mind automatically flashing back to the previous night.

"Anger is better than nothing."

"I don't want to fight with you anymore."

"Then what do you want?"

The question caught him by surprise, and a thousand answers raced through his mind all at once. _I want you to let me love you, and I want to hear you say you love me. I want to see some spark of life in those dead eyes. I want to take your pain away. I want --_

"I want to see you smile again." The words rushed out and her eyes widened. He took the opportunity to step toward her, so close any movement would cause their bodies to touch. "A truly free and happy smile. I know I will see it again. Someday."

"Not tonight," she murmured. "But will give you something else you want."

"And that is?"

She backed away a step, and, without a word, reached up to her shoulder to slowly, so slowly slide one dress strap down her arm. Her eyes never left his, and he could only watch in disbelief as the other strap followed. The dress slipped off her body like water and pooled at her feet, leaving her naked and unashamed, and more beautiful than Aphrodite. She kicked off the sandals. Spike couldn't bring himself to move for fear of waking up.

"I'm dreaming," he said, quiet and stunned.

"It's not a dream. I almost wish it were." She stepped up to him, took his hand and pressed it against her skin. "I want you to make love to me, Spike. Please. I want you to help me feel. I _need_ to feel."

He swallowed hard and tried his best to focus on her eyes and no lower. Certainly not on his hand, which she still held against her breast. Before anything else, he had to make her understand exactly what she was asking. He absolutely couldn't let this go awry come the morning. He couldn't finally have her, only to lose her again.

"Buffy, if we do this, there's no denying anymore what's between us. You can't walk away from me again. There's no going back. You understand that, luv?"

She looked up at him coyly from under thick lashes. "Do you want me, Spike?"

"God, yes," he breathed.

"Then I want it, too. Now. Please."

She didn't have to ask again. He crushed her against him, she ripped his T-shirt down the center in her desperation to touch skin. Spike never remembered how they made it downstairs to the bed, only that he had her there, beneath him, around him, filling his universe. Making him feel human, making her feel loved.

Afterward, she fell asleep, curled against his side, and he pressed his cheek against her hair. She started to snore softly. For the first time in his existence, he felt completely at peace.

#

Spike awoke alone, hours after sunrise. He didn't know when Buffy had left, only that his sheets still smelled of her and what they had done. _What they had done._ He had made love to her, his Slayer. After all this time, she had finally set aside her reservations and had given herself to him completely.

As Spike rolled onto his back to contemplate the ceiling, he wondered what had happened to trigger her surrender. Perhaps, on the path she had been walking since her resurrection, it had been inevitable. She had such heavy heartache that she had almost crushed him beneath it. She needed so much, to feel secure and loved, to feel anything at all. He marveled at her strength, that she had endured these past few weeks with such an emptiness inside her.

They needed to talk, now more than ever, but he couldn't leave the crypt until sundown. The hours would pass slowly until then, but there was no help for it.

He rolled out of bed and pulled on his jeans. Buffy had ripped his only T-shirt off his back, so he went bare-chested to the crypt's upper level in search of breakfast. He pulled a blood packet from the fridge, popped it in the microwave for 30 seconds, then started to feed.

"Geez, you know it doesn't matter how many times I see you vamps suckin' blood, it still gives me the willies."

Spike spewed blood across the crypt in his surprise. His eyes bulged as he saw his visitor, a short man dressed in a well-tailored tan suit and matching hat. No, not a man, not in the human sense, although he could pass easily enough for one on the street. He smelled like demon, and every vibe Spike felt radiating from him promised a bad ending.

"OK," the visitor said, shuddering, "that was even worse. At least keep it in your mouth, huh?"

"Bloody hell! Who are you?" Spike choked out, stomping toward him across the crypt. "How long have you been up here?"

"Now calm down, Spike. I would think after your tumble with the Slayer last night you'd be in a better mood."

That was too much, this cocky, arrogant little piece of demon talking like they were friends. And how the hell did he know about Buffy? The guy backed up and raised his hands to ward off Spike, but that didn't stop the vampire from grabbing him by the neck and lifting him several inches off the ground.

"Who are you?" Spike growled. "Talk before I rip your head off and use it for a bowling ball."

"Whoa, check out the imagery," he squeaked.

"Talk!"

"I'm Whistler. And I have a message for you from the Powers."

#

TBC ...


	2. "The Slayer stands alone"

**Title:** Abandoned  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  
**Spoilers:** Through "Tabula Rasa"  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** R -- for language and nongraphic sex  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Author's notes:** Thanks so much for all the feedback on chapter 1! I'm floored by the response. I hope you enjoy the next part, as well. Warning: Much angst in this chapter. 

#

Spike growled, deep in his throat, and unceremoniously dumped the demon on the crypt floor. Whistler landed flat on his bottom, scrambled to his feet and brushed his hands over the back of his suit. The whole thing looked rather comical, as though Whistler had come straight out of a 1950s film noir with beautiful temptresses and smoking guns. Except he was one of the little guys, the ones who always got stepped on.

"Watch it, will ya?" he said. "This is an expensive ensemble. It doesn't take well to dust and blood stains."

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

Spike grinned coldly. "You got me there, mate. Now are you going to tell me what you're doing in my crypt?"

"I already told you, I have a message for you from The Powers That Be." He spread his arms wide and looked to the heavens before returning his attention to Spike. "They've been keeping an eye on you and the Slayer for a while now, and after last night, well, they decided it's time to step in."

"What are you talking about?"

"You. Buffy. Making with the smooches. Not good."

"I think you need to tell your Powers to sod off and mind their own business."

Spike turned away, returned to fridge to recover his blood packet, which was dripping all over the floor. He took a sip and almost spat it out again. Cold. He could pop it back the microwave, but reheated blood just didn't taste the same. Yet another reason to detest this intrusion -- it had ruined his breakfast. 

Whistler was wandering the crypt now, examining every candle and piece of furniture as though it were a museum artifact. Spike watched surreptitiously, ready to jump into attack mode at any moment. He still didn't like this guy -- reminded him too much of those kitten collectors --but he was reasonably certain Whistler was no more than what he said. A messenger, albeit one with unwelcome tidings and a serious lack of tact. No one could insult Buffy, then order Spike to stay away from her, especially now that he finally had her.

"Nice place you got here," Whistler said. "Probably a little drafty in the winter but, hey, if that doesn't bother you, then you've got it made." 

"Is there something else on your mind?" Spike asked, rather impatient. "You have your answer on Buffy. I'm not giving her up. So you can go back to your Powers and tell them to leave us alone." 

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way," Whistler said. "You see, Buffy is on the wrong path. She's scared, unsure of herself. She's been hiding behind her Watcher, but now that he's gone, she's gonna start hiding behind you. She knows you'll protect her, give her a sense of security."

"Bloody right, I will," Spike retorted. "She deserves it, after all she's been through."

"It will make her weak."

"She's stronger than you know."

"Not for long." Whistler took his hat in his hands, started twirling it in what Spike guessed was a nervous habit. "The girl hasn't had an easy go of it. No Slayer does. But she's been strong because she's always known that, in the end, she can count on herself to pull through and win. The moment she believes someone else will save her, that will be her downfall. She'll get herself killed."

That got Spike's attention. Buffy dead, again? No, he wouldn't let that happen. The world needed her too much, as did the Nibblet and all the Scooby friends. More importantly, _he_ needed her.

"Buffy won't die. Not again. I'll protect her."

Whistler snorted. "Stupid vamp. You're not hearing a word I'm saying, are you? You _can't_ protect her. There's some nasty stuff coming, and the only way she'll prevail is if she relearns to stand on her own."

"So what, then?" Spike said, getting angry now. "You and your soddin' Powers expect me to stand by and watch her suffer? I won't do that."

"No, they expect you to leave her."

Spike blinked, unsure he had heard that right. He studied Whistler closely.

"Say that again?"

#

Buffy woke shortly after sunrise feeling rather groggy and disoriented, took one look at her surroundings and panicked. She was lying on an unfamiliar bed -- naked, no less -- and was curled up against an equally naked Spike. He hadn't woken up yet, and had one arm draped over her stomach and a contended smile on his lips. 

It all crashed back, everything they had done. How she had thrown herself at him the previous night (_oh god_), how tender and loving he had been, at least until those last few moments when he had slipped into vampire face and bit his own arm to satisfy the bloodlust. Strangely enough, at the time, she hadn't cared. He had rekindled the fire; that was all that mattered. 

In the daylight, though, things were, well, different. And this situation with Spike had gone way too far. She gently disengaged herself from her lover (_my lover, oh my god_), who rolled over but didn't wake, and tiptoed upstairs to dress. 

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," she muttered while pulling on her sundress and sandals. "Oh my god what did I do? Oh god ..." 

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she crossed the cemetery, which was still shrouded in an early morning mist that condensed on her bare arms and legs. The air hadn't been nearly this frigid last night, or maybe she just hadn't cared enough to notice. The cold inside her had been much worse. Then he had touched her, and she had started to thaw. His passion had seared her to the core. 

She had needed that, so desperately. Especially after Giles' abrupt departure, and Tara moving out. All the secrets had been revealed, and her band of friends had not emerged unscathed. They were breaking apart. Willow had sunk into post-breakup depression, Dawn was angry at them all for messing up her happy home, and Buffy herself ... well, she had been reckless enough to sleep with the one person she trusted most. 

Spike had been her anchor through the past few weeks, since her resurrection. No matter how many times she had abused him, insulted him, demanded that he get out of town, he had stubbornly refused to leave. He had even stayed with Dawn after Buffy's death, merely because of a promise. Through it all, he had been the only one who hadn't betrayed or abandoned her, and now she had gone and ruined it by sleeping with him. Things got weird after sex. Men had a way of disappearing. 

"Ohgod ohgod ohgod ..." 

She circled the house and snuck in the kitchen door, hoping maybe the others wouldn't be awake yet even though it was a school day. She eased the door shut, winced when it squeaked (_yet another fix-it-up job to add to the list_) and jumped when she saw Willow leaning against the opposite entryway, arms crossed and mouth set in an angry line. 

"Buffy, where have you been? Dawny and I have been worried sick for the past half-hour. We called Xander, and he's out looking for you. I would have done a locator spell, but, well, magic is kinda out of the question right now." 

"Geez, Wil, overreact much?" 

Willow blushed and looked at her feet. "I don't think it is overreacting. Since you told us about ... you know ... you've been acting a little crazy, and we've been extra worried. Then you vanish for an entire night ... We worry because we love you. You know that, right? That we all love you?" 

Now Buffy felt embarrassed. She hadn't realized her tryst might have _other_ unintended consequences, beyond the obvious complications with Spike. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, but you know I won't break if you look at me the wrong way. I can take care of myself." 

"I know, but --" 

Willow looked like she wanted to say more, but footsteps thumped down the stairs and Dawn raced into the kitchen. Her makeup was only half- done, and she was wearing one sock. Obviously Buffy's entrance had interrupted her morning routine, but Dawn didn't seem to care. She took one look at her sister and crushed her in a hug. 

"You're OK!" 

Buffy sighed and smoothed Dawn's hair. "I'm fine." 

"Where were you?" 

She felt her face heat. "I was, um, at Spike's. We were talking, and I fell asleep." 

"At Spike's? All night?" Dawn pulled back, so that her hands rested on Buffy's shoulders. She sniffed. "You know, you kind of smell like him. All smoky and --" 

"So, Wil, what's on the schedule for today?" Buffy squeaked out. "Any baddies to kill, or research, or anything at all?" 

Willow and Dawn exchanged a look, then Willow studied Buffy so closely that Buffy thought maybe her friend was using magic to read her mind, to discover her most recent secret. Probably just her imagination, then again, how did someone keep their thoughts from a witch? Just think about anything else. Um, popcorn, candy canes, algebra and two-times-two. Anything but Spike and sex and ... 

"Oh, god," Buffy said, pressing her palms to her eyes. 

Her night with Spike had been ... amazing and exactly what she had needed. Still, she had no clue how to explain it to her friends. Dawn might understand, but the others mostly regarded Spike as a hanger-on, not a card-carrying member of the gang. Those times had passed, though, when he had stood on the outside. She had to make them understand what he had become: her shield and confidant. 

"Dawn," Willow said, never taking her eyes off Buffy, "why don't you go finish getting ready for school." 

"But --" 

"Dawn, go." Willow's voice dropped to deadly quiet. 

"Fine, I can take a hint," Dawn said, throwing her arms in the air. "I'll run along so you can have interesting discussions without me. Just don't go making her forget things because we've all had enough of that." 

She stomped out. A guilty look flickered across Willow's face as she and Buffy took stools at the kitchen bar. 

"You want to talk about it?" Willow asked gently. "Whatever 'it' is?" 

So she hadn't been reading thoughts, after all. Buffy relaxed. After the debacle of her memory spell, Willow had sworn off magic, at least for a while, in the hope of winning back Tara's trust. It seemed that she planned on sticking to that. 

Buffy shook her head. "I'm not ready to talk. I mean, I will, but not yet. Understand?" 

"Yeah, I get that." 

"Thanks." She reached out to squeeze Willow's hand. "How are you?" 

"I'm OK," Willow said, giving her a brave smile. "I mean, when I remember to keep breathing and talking and everything else, then I'm OK." Her eyes started to water. "I know it was my fault and that I deserve to be punished, but I miss Tara. I feel so lost without her." 

"It'll get easier." 

"I know." 

"Just don't do anything drastic, like making Giles go blind or turning Xander into a demon magnet, all right?" 

Willow crooked a grin. "Or making you fall in love with Spike." 

_Too late for that._ Buffy almost said the words, then caught herself and covered with a coughing fit. The mere thought of it floored her. In love with Spike. It sounded strange, and not quite right. Friends, sure. Lovers ... last night she had all but promised him there was no going back. But _in love_? 

Willow patted her back. "Buffy, are you OK?" 

"Fine," she choked out. "I just -- I need to go take a shower. See you later at the Magic Box?" 

"Yeah, sure." 

She felt Willow's eyes, brimming with concern, follow her flight from the kitchen. She wasn't ready yet to talk with her friends about this newest development, but she did need to talk to Spike. Tonight. Maybe he could resolve the conflict in her heart. 

# 

"Let me explain something to you and your Powers," Spike said from his seat atop the sarcophagus. Whistler slouched across from him in an old recliner. "Just about every man Buffy has ever cared for has left her, starting with her father. Then there was my poof of a sire, soldier boy and her Watcher. If I left, too, it might destroy her. The bloody straw that breaks the bloody camel's back. Get it?" 

"Someone's on an ego trip," Whistler muttered. 

"Excuse me?" 

"Look, she survived all the others, right? And she was stronger for it. She'll survive now, too." 

Spike crossed his arms. "I'm not leaving." 

"Geez, what is it with vampires fallin for this girl?" Whistler rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm gonna lay it out for you, nice and simple. You stay, Buffy dies. You leave, she has a shot at living. And I'm not talking about this wandering around in a dream world thing she's doin' right now. I'm talking about really _living_." 

Spike visualized it, Buffy playing, smiling in the sunlight, doing things normal people do. "You mean that? Buffy would be happy?" 

"Well, I'm not promising anything on that account. All I can guarantee is that if you stay, she will come to depend on you too much and she'll end up in the ground. Again. Which would be too bad since she's the only one who can stop what's coming." 

"And what's that?" 

Whistler shrugged. "Oh, apocalypse stuff, the whole world on the brink of destruction. The usual. You know how it goes." He leaned forward, his expression serious. "So save the world and save your Slayer. Get out of town." 

Spike couldn't bring himself to answer or to refuse to listen when what the demon said made sense. Instead he laid back on the sarcophagus lid, his forearm covering his face and the tears that were threatening to fall. He refused to show weakness, even though his dead heart broke with every moment. Leave Buffy. Leave his beloved, to save her. He tried to recall, in his mind's eye, an image of her, smiling, laughing and enjoying life, all those things Whistler said might happen if he left. All he could see were her tears, after she would find him gone. 

Whistler rose from his chair and looked down at Spike. "It's not like you'd be left out in the cold completely. We'd keep you updated on her progress, of course, while you're out on missions for the Powers." 

Spike did a double-take. Whistler had dropped that all too casually. "What missions?" 

"Infiltrating groups of bad guys, gathering information, then taking 'em out." 

"What do I look like? James Bond?" 

"You'd be stopping the bad guys before they got within a hundred miles of your Slayer. You'd be keeping her safe, from a safe distance of course. There's a certain romantic charm to it all, you got to admit. Plus, the pay is great." 

"You're off your nut, you know that." 

Spike sat up, swung his legs around to dangle off the stone coffin and pressed both palms to his eyes. Why, when everything was looking up, did something have to come along and ruin it. Happened every soddin' time. 

"So what do you say?" Whistler said, jumping up beside Spike. "Help her live, or help her die. It's all up to you." 

# 

At sunset, Buffy was crossing the cemetery, humming a show tune and swinging a plastic bag she'd gotten at a nearby department store. She didn't bother knocking at Spike's crypt. Never did. She rather enjoyed his annoyed comments about her lack of decorum, and just because they had slept together didn't mean she had to start treating him differently. 

She marched in, expecting to hear his deep voice at any second, complaining about her entrance. Then she'd spat back with some witty comment, and he would smile mischievously and pull her into his arms ... 

No, no, no. She shook the fantasy from her mind. She had come here for a specific purpose: To tell Spike that although she appreciated his friendship, they couldn't be lovers. Because every man she had sex with ended up leaving and she couldn't bear to lose him, too. So friends they would remain. He wouldn't react well, she knew, but it had to be that way. 

The upper crypt was empty. He hadn't bothered to light candles, so Buffy let her eyes to adjust before venturing inside. 

"Spike?" she called. "Are you here?" 

No answer. Maybe he had gone out on patrol, or looking for her. Then again, maybe he was still asleep downstairs, stretched out across the bed, naked and .... 

"Spike? Hello? I bought you a new T-shirt. It's black." 

She descended the ladder, turned around and jumped in surprise. She had expected a vampire. Instead, a strange, short man sat on the edge of the bed, twirling his hat with both hands. Buffy's Slayer instincts went on heightened alert. 

"I know you," she said, as she cautiously approached. "You told me how to defeat Angel. Whistler, right?" 

He grinned. "Glad to know I'm so memorable." 

"What are you doing here? And where's Spike?" 

He shook his head in pity. "Listen, kid, I'm sorry. I really am. But this is the way things have to be." 

"What? What are you talking about?" 

Whistler gave her one more sad look, withdrew a folded piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to her. "Spike asked me to give you this." 

She accepted it with trembling hands and stared at it, but couldn't bring herself to unfold it. The paper was crumpled at the edges. She had no doubt what Whistler had handed her, although she didn't know how she knew. This was Spike's farewell note. He hadn't even cared enough to say good-bye. Her sight blurred, but she held back the tears. 

"Why?" she whispered, looking up at Whistler. 

"Because the Slayer stands alone. That's the way it's always been." He nodded toward the note. "Go on. Read it." 

She unfolded the paper. Spike had penned it in his own loopy handwriting, and his tears had smeared the ink. The message wasn't long. She read the words three times before refolding the note, stuffing it in her pocket and nodding to Whistler. Without a word, she left, Spike's new black T-shirt forgotten on the floor near his bed.

The tears that so recently had threatened had dried up now. Buffy felt a curious, calm detachment spread throughout her, like she would wake at any moment. None of this was really happening. Only a dream. She floated in a haze as she left the cemetery, crossed town and wandered into the Magic Box. All her friends sat at the table, poring over musty books and chatting about inconsequential things. Xander and Anya whispered to each other while Willow watched them in mournful remembrance of her own lost love.

Dawn saw her first. "Buffy, hi! Where have you been?" She paused and studied her sister carefully as Buffy crossed the shop. "Are you all right? You look kind of, I don't know ... bad."

They all broke off their conversations to stare, in obvious concern, as Buffy wordlessly pulled Spike's note from her pocket and handed it to Dawn. Her sister's eyes watered as she read, then she stood and grabbed Buffy in a one-sided embrace. Buffy was too numb to respond.

"I'm so sorry," Dawn said.

Xander piped up, "So is this a secret between sisters, or can anyone know?"

Dawn handed the note to the closest person, Willow, then eased Buffy into a chair at the table. Willow read and looked from Buffy to Dawn, then to an anxious-looking Xander and Anya.

"It's Spike," Willow said. "He's gone."

The words touched Buffy's heart in a way that reading the note itself hadn't done, and reality came crashing in. Not a dream, not if her friends had seen it too, not after Willow's confirmation. Spike had really left her. Just like all the others, he had left her. 

Buffy laid her head on the table and cried. 

#

TBC ... 


	3. "It's something about bad boys"

**Title:** Abandoned, chapter 3  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  
**Spoilers:** Through "Tabula Rasa"  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** R -- for language and nongraphic sex  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Author's notes:** Again, thank you for the feedback. After watching last week's episode ("Smashed"), I got inspired to bring back a touch of the Big Bad: Spike before he fell head over heels for Buffy. Please let me know if you think it works. 

#

I hate goodbyes. It's better this way. Be strong, Buffy, and live.  
-- Yours forever, Spike 

She read the words over and over, crumpled the paper and threw it as far as her Slayer strength allowed. Then, dressed in her favorite comfy pajamas, Buffy curled up on the living room couch and rested her cheek against her knees. Her thoughts were far away, with the vampire who had reawakened her emotions and had left, all in one day. She had tried to resurrect her walls, impenetrable to hurt, but it seemed rebuilding would take time. Yet rebuild she would. Better to feel nothing, she reasoned, than the emptiness of his departure. 

At least her friends had determined that Spike hadn't committed suicide. Xander had had the presence of mind to check for Spike's car, which had also vanished. That indicated he had simply hit the road, that he hadn't gone for a sunlit stroll. The knowledge gave Buffy some consolation because it meant next time she saw him, she would have her chance to stake him, the bastard. _Never trust a vampire_, she thought in mantra. _Never trust a man to stay._

So where had he gone? Was he still in state, or even in the country? After regaining her composure, Buffy had returned to the crypt, hoping to find Whistler and beat the crap out of him until he spilled on Spike's location. That plan had fallen through, though, when she had found the crypt deserted. With no other leads, she had gone home to mope. 

She really didn't understand why she cared anyway. She had been trying to get rid of Spike for months and had finally succeeded. Victory at last secured when most unwanted. 

The front door opened with a whoosh of cold November air, and Willow walked in, two plastic bags hanging off her wrist. She shed her coat, plopped onto the couch beside Buffy and started pulling out the bags' contents. 

"We have chocolate, and a pint of Ben & Jerry's, and ... two sappy romantic comedies about people who are more pathetic than us. The perfect ingredients for a bonding night between two girls who are down on their luck." 

Buffy tried to show interest, to humor her friend. "What movies?" 

"'Sleepless in Seattle' and 'Bridget Jones's Diary.' Seen them?" 

"Nah. Well, I think I might have seen that first one once. Was that the one where Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan fell in love over e-mail?" 

"That was 'You've Got Mail.' This is the _other_ Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan movie, and the better one, to my way of thinking." Willow set their loot on the coffee table and bounced a little on the cushions. "So, ready for some ice cream and cheesy hollywood romance?" 

"I don't know," Buffy said, pulling her knees tighter to her chest. "I guess so." 

"Not the enthusiastic response I was looking for." 

"I'm sorry, Wil. I'm just ..." 

Willow cocked her head. "Just what? Do -- do you maybe want to talk instead? We can do the movie thing some other time, if you want to talk." 

"No," Buffy said, hurriedly. At her friend's hurt expression, she added, "I can't -- I'm just not ready to talk yet. I need awhile to process the overload of information." 

Willow looked disappointed. "All right. I for one want to know what was going on between you and Spike that has you so upset. I guess it can wait. You'd think after all the crying and moping that you'd been sleeping with him, but I know you would never be stupid enough to do that." 

Buffy sighed. "That would be a _very_ stupid thing for me to do." 

"So, um, what do you feel like doing, then?" 

_Feel_. An alien word. Buffy had to admit she didn't feel much of anything beyond a soul-numbing depression, except maybe ... 

"I feel like killing something," she said frankly. 

"Oh," Willow said, taken back by the answer. "Oh, well, I don't think I can help you with that." 

"Maybe I should go out on patrol, see if I can scare up any nasties. The wicked never sleep in Sunnydale." Buffy uncurled from the couch and went to the closet for her coat. "Sorry to ruin girls' night. Maybe Dawn would like to eat ice cream and watch movies. After she's done with her homework, of course." 

"Sure, but, Buffy ..." 

"Yeah?" 

"Don't you think maybe you should change first? Unless you think bunny slippers will strike fear into the hearts of vampires." 

She looked down at her pajamas and blushed. "Um, right. I'll just go upstairs and slip into something a little more Slayer-y. Be right back." 

As she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, shuffling her bunny slippers on every step, her thoughts drifted again, from visions of dusty vampires to Spike's cocky smile. The quintessential characteristics of a bad boy. He always had a glint in his eyes that suggested some evil plot lurking behind those baby blues. God, she missed that. _I wonder,_ she thought, _what he's doing tonight._

#

Spike rubbed a finger and thumb over the bridge of his nose, trying to calm the noise in his brain. Then he downed another shot. It didn't help. Vampires didn't feel guilt -- a convenient side effect of having no soul -- and yet he did; he felt guilty for abandoning Buffy, even if it was to save her life. Then again, maybe this emptiness inside was caused only by the neglect of his true, selfish nature. He _wanted_ Buffy, wanted to own her, love her and hurt her. Now he could do none of those things. 

The clatter of the tavern also did little soothe his nerves. He had driven north from Sunnydale at sunset and had stopped, about a hundred miles out, at this place, a demon bar in the middle of nowhere. Tonight, it was hopping. Every imaginable monster crowded inside, drinking, relaxing and having a fine time. Occasional fights had broken out, and a couple of female vamps had approached Spike's lonely booth to suggest they go out back for some fun -- he turned them both down with images of Buffy's accusing stare echoing in his mind -- but other than that, it had proved a normal night for drinking. 

He poured another shot of whiskey from his half-empty bottle and focused completely on the task of getting raving drunk. So far, all he had managed was a light buzz. 

A small demon stopped beside his table as Spike forced more alcohol down his throat. The whiskey tasted better the more he drank, or maybe he just cared less. He looked up at his visitor and groaned. 

"What do you want now?" 

Whistler slid into the seat across from him. "When I told you to come here, I didn't mean for you to drown in a bottle of Jack Daniels." 

"Hello. In case you hadn't noticed, this is a bar. What else is it good for except for drinking?" 

"How about eavesdropping?" 

"Huh?" 

Whistler gestured to the crowd. "This is the place demons come to meet and make their let's-destroy-the-world plans. It's close to the hellmouth, but not close enough to get the Slayer's attention. Perfect place for you to do some spying." 

"I already told you I'm not James bloody Bond." He poured another shot and downed it, while Whistler watched in disapproving silence. "I left Sunnydale because of you and that's enough. I'm not going to do your dirty work, too, so sod off." 

"Whoa, that's some bad attitude." 

Spike leaned across the table, fixing Whistler with a dark glare. "Are you hard of hearing? Leave. Me. Alone." 

"Fine," Whistler said, easing out of the booth and straightening his coat and hat. "But you might want to take a listen to the conversation in the booth behind you. I think you'd find it very interesting." 

Spike watched him disappear into the mass of demons. "Bloody wanker. Thinks I'm gonna do what the Powers want after that stunt they pulled with me and Buffy. Stupid poof." 

Still, Whistler had sounded confident that whatever was going on in the next booth over might be important, and the guy should know, thanks to his connection to the Powers. With a groan -- why did he always fall into these messes? -- Spike strained to hear the conversation. 

"... in the planning for years, but it's gonna go down soon," said a deep voice. "So be ready." 

"How soon?" 

"Can't say. The Big Man would stake us both for sure if I spilled." 

_OK_, Spike thought. _We're dealing with a couple of vamps, maybe more but only two voices so far. And the Big Man. Wonder who that is._

"But these things take planning," said the second vampire. "I need to have a time table. It's not like we can saunter into Sunnydale on a moment's notice. The Slayer --" 

"The Slayer won't be a problem." 

Spike's fists clenched. He kept listening. 

"But --" 

"Come on, man, show some backbone. The Slayer might be able to take out a dozen of us, at best, but what good will she do against a hundred? Or two hundred? She'll be dead within seconds." A pause, and then, "So can you be ready at the signal?" 

"Yeah," the second vamp said, hesitant. "Yeah, I'll be ready." 

"Good. That's what the Big Man likes to hear." 

Spike's hand tightened so hard around his shot glass that it cracked, but he barely noticed. These idiots were plotting against the Slayer, _his_ Slayer. He needed more information than a couple of vague references. He slid from his booth and strutted the few steps to the vampires' table. There were only two -- one rather chubby and wearing a football-team sweatshirt, and the other skinny and more pale than a vampire had a right to be. He smiled down at them in false cheer. 

The chubby one looked up. "What do you want? Get out of here." 

From his deep voice, Spike recognized him as the one with most of the information. 

"I couldn't help but overhear that you're planning a go at Sunnydale," he said. "Sounds like fun." 

"Yeah, so?" 

"I'd like to offer my services to the cause." 

The skinny vamp snorted. "And what makes you think that we need you?" 

"You'll be needing to get the Slayer out of your way, right? Meet one of the few vampires who has faced her and lived. I know her speed, her strengths, her weaknesses. I can help you take her out in short order. But if you're not interested, I can just go ..." 

"No, wait." Chubby looked interested. "Tell me more." 

Spike grinned and slid into the seat beside Skinny, who looked at him strangely. Spike quickly sorted a convincing story to feed them. "I'll make you a deal. A swap. I'll give you the goods, in exchange for details on what you're planning." 

"Hey, wait just a minute," Skinny said, and he reached out to pinch Spike's duster. 

Spike pulled away. "Watch it will you? You'll bruise the leather." 

Skinny snorted. "I thought so. I know you, and we're not telling you shit." 

"Trust me, mate, you don't know me," Spike said, trying his best to sound calm despite the alarms going off in his head. He unobtrusively reached under his jacket for a stake. "I think I would remember an idiot like you." 

"I know _of_ you, then. The stories have reached across the globe about the master vampire who turned against his own kind and fights beside the Slayer. His name's Spike. Word is he's an English bottle-blond who has a thing for black leather. I've got your number, _mate._" 

"And I've got yours," Spike growled. 

Without a second thought, Spike's hand closed around his stake, and he plunged it into Skinny's chest. The vamp went to dust, and Spike shrugged at Chubby, who stared in open-mouthed amazement. "He had to do it the hard way, huh?" 

"What are you, man?" Chubby asked, "Some kind of spy?" 

"Geez, not too bright, are you?" Spike grabbed the vampire's sweatshirt and yanked, pulling him halfway across the table. "Now, listen carefully. You could end up like your friend over here. Or you can give me the information I'm looking for and walk away. What do you say?" 

For his answer, Chubby swung a powerful fist at Spike and knocked him back into his seat. Spike rolled his jaw, where the punch had connected, and grinned. An overwhelming lust for violence swept through him. The vamp had some power, and Spike hadn't had a good fight in ages. 

Chubby said, "Let's take this outside." 

Spike gestured to the door. "After you, mate." 

# 

Dawn curled up on the couch and leaned her cheek against Willow's shoulder, and Willow smoothed her hair. They were watching some movie that starred a bunch of British people and Renee Zellweger, who was pretending to be British. It had been interesting for a while, but since Hugh Grant wasn't on screen anymore, it had lost Dawn's interest. Still, it was better than math homework. 

"So, um, did Buffy say when she was gonna be back?" Dawn asked, lifting her head to look at Willow. 

"Nope. She looked all business, so I'd guess it won't be for a while. After we go to bed probably." 

"Did she say what was up? I mean, with Spike leaving and all." 

"I have theories, but Buffy's not talking." Willow sighed. "I just wish I hadn't sworn off magic. I mean, I could do a spell to help her. Make her feel better or something." 

Dawn tried to ignore the wistful tone of Willow's voice. Last time the redhead had done a spell, they had ended up helpless in the sewers with a vampire on their trail. Hoping to steer the conversation to a safer subject, she asked, "Do your theories involve Buffy and Spike and kissing?" 

Willow gave her a lopsided smile. "You're thinking that, too, huh? But I seriously doubt Buffy would go that far. She's smarter than that." 

"I don't know. I mean, look at Bridget Jones," Dawn said, waving toward the TV screen. "She's all mooning over bad boy Hugh Grant when really the man of her dreams is the sensible one who's right in front of her nose. I think it's something about bad boys. They tend to cloud judgment." 

"Yeah, maybe." 

They watched the movie for a few minutes. It was Bridget's birthday, and a pathetic-looking Hugh Grant crashed the party. The scene reminded Dawn of Buffy's last birthday, when she had snuck out and run into Spike, lurking outside the house with a crushed box of chocolates. He had helped her break into the magic shop. That night, she had learned the terrible truth about herself, which had started a chain of events leading to the Scoobies' flight from Sunnydale and the kidnapping and Buffy's death ... 

"I'm not sure I like this movie," Dawn said, frowning. 

"We can watch the other one." 

"No, it's OK. Um, Willow, can I ask you something? About magic." 

Willow sat up straighter, with a wary look, and said, "What is it?" 

"Is there a spell that could locate someone who is missing? Like maybe a certain vampire." 

"No. I mean, yes, there is a spell. But we're not doing it." 

"But --" 

"_No_." 

"Why not?" 

Willow shifted, uncomfortable with the subject. "I think maybe it's a good thing that Spike left. As much of a help as he's been, especially this past summer when we didn't have Buffy around, he's still an evil, soulless vampire. He's all about the gratuitous violence and killing. Too much potential for bad endings." 

"Well, I think he's changed, and Buffy's not the only one who misses him," Dawn said, but she didn't press the subject. Again she rested her head on Willow's shoulder. "So do you think Buffy might get back soon?" 

# 

Spike and Chubby went out back to an empty area of the parking lot. With no street lights and a new moon, the night was darker than Spike was accustomed to, but his eyes adjusted quickly enough. Chubby had stripped off his sweatshirt; Spike laid his duster on the asphalt and put up his fists. 

"All right, then," he said, grinning. "Let's get on with the fight, shall we?" 

"You're dead, turncoat." 

Chubby charged him like a linebacker, but he wasn't quick. Spike easily stepped aside and, when Chubby's momentum carried him past, kicked him in the back. The vampire stumbled, caught himself and spun around to growl at Spike in his game face. 

"Ooo, scary," Spike taunted. "You think that's gonna improve your chances?" 

Again, Chubby charged, and Spike slid to the side. He said, "Can you try something else now because I'm getting bored." 

"This maybe?" Chubby swung around with a right hook. 

Spike staggered back. He felt blood trickle down his chin, and he laughed. Now that was more like it! Fresh night air, and a good old fashioned fight to get the adrenaline pumping. The perfect cure for brooding. 

"That's the spirit," Spike said as he punched back, clobbering Chubby in the left eye. 

"Stop talking and fight," the vampire spat. 

"Oh, but the whole purpose of this is to get you to talk. I want to know where to find the Big Man." 

Chubby's eyes widened. "I can't say that. They'd kill me!" 

"I'll kill you if you don't." 

"Not a chance." 

Spike shrugged. "Have it your way, then." 

He launched a kick with both feet at the vampire's chest, landed on all fours and, as Chubby advanced, kicked back like a mule. His opponent crashed to the asphalt, and Spike rolled over to straddle him with a stake at his chest. 

"Tell me." 

"You'll have to kill me first." 

Spike's eyes narrowed, and he felt blood singing in his veins. "Oh, you're going to wish I had killed you. You're gonna be begging for it." He punched the stake into the vampire's chest, just left of the heart, and Chubby screamed. "Talk, or it's about to get a lot worse." 

Blood trickled from the vamp's mouth. "I can't do that." 

Spike stabbed him again, this time in the stomach. Gods, this felt good. The blood, the torture, the screaming. Oh, how he had missed it these past few months, since he'd gone all soft over Buffy. _Buffy_. She would disapprove of the methods, but this lard of a vampire had information that he needed. Information on a plot that apparently involved an army of vampires and Buffy's death. _Not if I can help it,_ Spike thought savagely. _No one hurts my Slayer but me._

"I could keep this up all night," Spike said, deadly soft. "Just keep plunging in the stake. There are a lot of body parts to puncture. Or you could tell me what I want to know. Where can I find the Big Man?" 

Chubby groaned, then said in a strained voice. "I don't know." 

"Then who does?" 

He hesitated, until Spike poised the bloody stake for another blow. 

"My -- my contact would know. Vamp called Carlos. Lives in London." 

Spike blinked. "London? As in England?" 

"That's right. Now let me go." 

"Fine," Spike said, standing up. He really wanted to dust the wanker, but he always honored his deals. "I find out you're lying, I'm going to track you down and we'll continue this conversation. We understand each other?" 

Chubby nodded, which was enough. Spike retrieved his duster, threw the vampire's sweatshirt at him and sauntered around the building to his car. He felt better now than he had all day. The fight had rejuvenated him, and he even smiled when he saw Whistler leaning against the car, smoking a cigarette. 

"I see you've had your fun," Whistler said, his eyes raking Spike's blood-soaked clothing. "Did you learn anything useful?" 

"Yeah. Say, can I have one of those cigs?" 

Whistler tossed him the pack, and Spike lit up. 

"How did you know?" Spike asked. "About those two vamps?" 

"I didn't exactly. I was told that the big vampire, the one you pulverized back there, was meetin' up here with a bunch of other vampires and demons. I got the feeling he's a recruiter for something. Anyway, it looked like he was up to no good, so the Powers thought it was a good idea to put you on the case." 

"Great," Spike muttered. "First I was James Bond, and now I'm Columbo." 

"So, what did he tell you?" Whistler asked. 

Spike grinned. "That it's time for me to pay a visit home." 

# 

TBC ... 


	4. "I know I will find you"

**Title:** Abandoned, chapter 4  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  
**Spoilers:** Through "Tabula Rasa"  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** R -- for language and nongraphic sex  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Author's notes:** Hey everyone ... thanks for getting this far into the story. :0) As always, please let me know what you think works and what doesn't. I'd love to hear your feedback, and I hope you enjoy. 

# 

Music vibrated throughout the Bronze, accompanied by the ever-present clatter of glasses and din of voices. The night's band pumped it on stage, to the cheers and applause of kids on the dance floor. Loud. Deafening. The roar attacked Spike from all sides so that he could hardly think, and he pressed his hands to his ears. 

Yet above it all, he could sense something else, something tiny and gentle, and in a moment he knew what it was: the patter of rain on the roof. As he walked farther inside, he latched onto that sound, and everything else hushed to a whisper. He could smell it, the fresh, clean aroma, overpowering the nightclub stink of smoke and sweat. He could taste its purity on his tongue, though he hadn't drunk a drop. 

Spike dared to lower his hands and look around. He had no idea how he had gotten here, but he vaguely remembered falling asleep in the back seat of the deSoto, the blackened windows rolled up to protect him from daylight. Now he walked through the Bronze, the world turning in slow motion around him, the music thrumming through his body. The rhythm of rain on the roof. He weaved among patrons who seemed little more substantial than ghosts, like one strong wind might blow them all away. 

Across the room, he saw the first solid person here, a familiar face, so he walked to her. Dawn sat at a small, round table, poring over a thick, leather-bound book. Her hair covered most of her face as she leaned over the yellowed pages and muttered aloud what she read. It was in a language Spike didn't recognize. Her hand passed over the pages, and for a moment, the book glowed in emerald green. Spike blinked. The glow had vanished, and he wondered whether he had imagined it. 

"What are you doing here, Lil' Bit?" he asked. "You're too young to get in here. Does big sis know about this?" 

She looked up at him, and as her hair fell to the side, he could see her eyes glowing in the same bright green, not only the irises but also the pupils and whites. She looked alien, powerful. A lazy smile crossed her lips. 

Spike stepped forward. "Are you all right, pet?" 

"I knew I would find you," she said smugly. "You can't hide from me Spike, so don't even try." 

Her gaze unnerved him, so he moved on, walking past her table and toward the dance floor. As he reached its edge, the crowd parted and he saw her, his Slayer, moving to the slow rhythms, arms rising above her head. A patchwork of shadow and light played over her hair and skin. Beside her, an insubstantial Willow and Xander danced, but it was Buffy who held him in rapture. 

Now he remembered of what this reminded him: the first night he had seen her, soon after he and Dru had arrived in Sunnydale. He had found Buffy at the Bronze, hanging with her friends, smiling and laughing. She had looked so free that night, not bound by the chains of her calling. The song, the atmosphere, her abandon, it was all the same, except this Buffy looked older, as she had on the night they made love. Her hair fell in waves, and the sundress slid smooth against her skin. Spike wanted to go to her, but he couldn't move. 

"So beautiful," he murmured. 

Then she saw him and smiled. As Buffy excused herself from her friends and approached, rain started to leak through the roof, creating a light mist that made everything shine. For a moment, Spike worried that the rain would ruin Dawn's book, but then Buffy stood before him and he could think of nothing but her. 

"Spike, where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you." 

"I had to leave. I didn't have a choice, Buffy. I --" 

She laid a finger on his lips. "Shhh. No more talking." 

She took his hands and guided him onto the dance floor. The music changed, became slower, more seductive. Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her body against him and started to dance. He held her close, his arms easily reaching around her tiny waist. She smelled of lilacs. The rain became heavier, soaking everyone and pooling on the floor, but no one cared. 

"Buffy, I have to apologize to you," he said. "I did what I did to save you." 

"I know." 

"I need your forgiveness." 

She smiled up at him, her hair now limp and plastered to her cheeks. Her makeup began to run, but still she was stunning. "I can't forgive you for leaving me, Spike. Not ever. But I will give you something else you want." 

"And that is?" 

She disengaged herself from his embrace, stepped back and reached under the hem of her soaking sundress, which clung to her in interesting ways. For a moment, Spike half-hoped, half-feared she would undress right here in the Bronze, but her hand emerged a moment later, clutching something tightly. He couldn't see it clearly with rainwater in his eyes, so he blinked a few times, then gasped. She held a stake. 

He held up his hands and backed away. "No, Buffy, please --" 

She looked at him sadly. "Goodbye, Spike." 

"No!" 

He could only watch, helpless, as the point descended toward his chest... 

Spike bolted upright with a yell, arms outstretched, and bumped his head on the roof of the deSoto. He looked all around, panic still clutching at his insides, before he realized he was alone. No Bronze, rainstorm, Dawn, Buffy or anything else. Certainly the stake had vanished, for which he whispered silent thanks. 

_Bloody hell,_ he thought, rubbing his forehead where he had collided with the roof. _What was that?_

That made three times this week he had dreamed about Buffy, but no dream before had featured her trying to kill him. _I will give you something else you want._ She had said that every time, but with different results. The first time had ended much like their real-life encounter, naked in each other's arms. The second, she had started to pummel him, and Spike learned that, strangely enough, he could hit her back. 

This third dream, though, had new elements. Dawn with the book and green eyes, the rainstorm, and Buffy with a stake. Also unlike previous dreams, this one had felt real. So real that Spike could recall every detail, every scent and sound. He was half-convinced if he hadn't woken up when he did, he might have turned to dust right there in the car. 

He forced himself to relax back and close his eyes -- the sun wouldn't set for several more hours and he needed his sleep. He would reach New York City tomorrow and then catch a Concorde nighttime flight across the Atlantic. He had to be well-rested when he arrived in London. 

Whatever that dream meant, he would worry about it tomorrow. 

# 

After dark, the streets of Sunnydale typically emptied of residents. If anyone had to be out, they finished their business quickly, for dangerous, unexplainable things often happened at night in this small California town. Tonight, though, was more lonely than normal, Buffy noted as she wandered. Not that she minded. Solitude had become a trusted friend these days, especially in the week since Spike had split the scene. Willow had offered to join her on patrol -- almost begged, in fact -- but Buffy had refused as politely as she could. Willow only wanted to probe for information on Spike, ask her if she was OK, and as much as Buffy loved her friend, the questions grated. Buffy needed her escape. 

Besides, Willow had to walk Dawn home from the magic shop later, as Buffy would likely not finish patrolling until late. No way would she allow her precocious little sister to explore the streets on her own. Last time, Dawn had ended up making out with a teenage vampire and had almost gotten herself killed or, even worse, turned. Maybe it had something to do with her supernatural origins, but the girl couldn't stay out of trouble. 

Buffy had crossed an empty street bordering the cemetery before she realized where her feet were taking her. _Not again,_ she thought. _Tonight, just this once, I won't go there._ Despite her inward protests, she knew she would end up at Spike's crypt, based on the glimmer of hope that he might have returned. 

She strolled among the shadowy tombstones, gloved hands buried in her coat pockets, with an eye out for vampires and fantasies playing through her mind. Spike kicked back in his recliner, one leg hoisted over the arm rest, maybe reapplying his black nail polish or watching TV. Perhaps he would still be in bed, or eating his liquid breakfast. Didn't matter, because no matter what she wished for, the scenarios would never come true. _He's gone. For good this time. I have to accept it._

Rustling from behind snapped her to reality. She pulled out a stake and crouched behind a tombstone to wait. A tall, slender figure approached at a walk, silhouetted in darkness. He looked confident, strong and unaware of the death that awaited him. Then the charade broke as he stumbled over a rock and pitched forward face-first into the ground. 

"Ouch! Dammit." 

She knew the voice. Buffy poked her head over the tombstone for a better look. "Xander? Is that you?" 

"Gee, how could you tell?" he asked as he scrambled to his feet and wiped dead grass off his jeans. "Could it maybe be my graceful acrobatics?" 

Great. Just what she needed -- someone to ruin her rare private time. She stomped to him and hissed, "What are you doing here?" 

"I followed you. Looked like you could use someone to talk to." 

"Nope. I'm fine." Maybe if she smiled convincingly enough, he would go away. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his concern. Most nights she would welcome his company, but she just didn't have the energy tonight to keep up the happy-face facade. 

Xander's eyes narrowed. "I'm not buying it. Something's up, Buffy, and it's not going to go away unless you --" He broke off and pointed frantically behind her. "Vampires!" 

Buffy spun around, barely in time to ram her stake into her first victim of the evening. She blinked against the dust of his passing, then ducked as another vampire swung both fists where her face had been moments before. She effortlessly dusted him as well, then glanced back at Xander, who had pulled a stake and cross from his pockets and was watching their attackers warily. Satisfied he would hold his own, or at least not get himself killed, Buffy focused on the three other vamps rushing toward them. _Pigs to the slaughter,_ she thought grimly. 

Two vamps came straight at her, while the third hung back. She dispatched one of them in seconds, then punched the other in the face. He sneered and swung back, but Buffy avoided his fist by dropping to the side. In one fluid motion, she came up behind him and buried her stake in his back. Four down, one to go. It all seemed too easy. She exchanged a dark glare with the remaining vampire; then he turned and ran. 

"Hey, come back here!" she yelled, knowing full well the vamp wouldn't listen. She groaned, then set off after him. 

They raced through the cemetery, dodging freshly dug graves and hurdling stone markers. It quickly became apparent, from the way the vampire kept slowing down to gage his location, that he wasn't fleeing in a random direction; he had a specific destination in mind. So, playing on a hunch, Buffy allowed herself to ease up a bit and let him keep his lead. She wanted to know where this would end. 

She followed him to the far end of the cemetery, to one of the older and larger crypts, its walls crumbled away in places to reveal light within. Before its front door slammed shut behind the vampire, Buffy made out at least one other figure inside. So it could be only two more vamps, but also could be a nest. She had to play this one carefully. 

Xander came stumbling up behind her and collapsed into the grass, his breath coming in gasps. "Remind me to get into better shape, OK? Like get into an aerobics program or that one where they make everyone ride stationary bikes until they pass out from exhaustion." 

"Spinning?" 

"Yeah, that." He nodded toward the crypt. "The big bad went in there?" 

"Yep. There's at least one more." 

"So what do we do?" 

"_We_ don't do anything," she answered curtly. 

"All right then, what do _you_ do? While I cower in the grass and hope they don't see me." 

She rolled her eyes, partly at his obvious question and partly at his self-deprecating humor. "Review handbook. See: Job description, Vampire Slayer." 

Xander took a moment to process that. "So, um, does that mean you're going to kill them?" 

For an answer, Buffy waved him down and stalked toward the crypt. She peered through a gap where the wall had crumbled away. It left her with a limited view, but enough to make out the doings inside. The escaped vampire raced around the crypt, stuffing supplies into a bag, while a second vamp rolled up a large sheet of paper that was laying on a sarcophagus. They acted like the last survivors of a war, who were preparing for a hasty retreat. Buffy had to take them out now, before the chance was lost. She heard them arguing as she eased open the crypt door. 

"You idiot," the second one spat. "What were you thinking, running back here with the Slayer on your tail?" 

"I'm telling you I lost her," the first one said. "She just couldn't keep up --" 

"I wouldn't count on that," Buffy said smugly from the doorway, then widened her eyes in feigned innocence as they turned their angry glares on her. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something important?" 

The second vamp bared his teeth and hissed, "Slayer." 

"Good call. Now I want you two boys to stop arguing and hand all your toys over to me, OK?" 

"Get her!" the first one yelled, and they charged. 

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Can't you vamps come up with anything more original than 'get her'?" She dusted the first one. "I mean, use some originality because that line is so over done." Her stake found the heart of the second, and she sighed at the empty room before her. "That's the problem with slaying. When you've done your job right, there's no audience left to appreciate it." 

"I thought it was a job well done," Xander said from behind her. 

Buffy grinned. Maybe it wasn't so bad he had followed her, after all. "Thanks. Think we should take a look at what Heckle and Jeckle were packing up?" 

The bag held the normal stuff: knives, guns, a couple of Walkie-Talkies and a cell phone. Why the vampires hadn't used the weapons on her, she couldn't guess, except that maybe they were even more stupid than she had initially surmised. She tossed that loot aside and turned her attention to the paper still laying on the sarcophagus. It looked like a map. A blue map, with lines and numbers etched in white. 

"Xander, you should see this," she said. 

He leaned over for a look as she laid it flat. "It's a blueprint. See here, these are measurements for the walls. But what would a couple of vamps want with blueprints?" 

Buffy shrugged. "I guess that depends on what building it is." She examined it more closely, and something caught her eye: A small red dot, drawn in by marker in a large room on the building's north side. She pointed at it and said, "What's that for?" 

"I'm not sure, but --" He stopped short and sudden understanding lit in his eyes. "Oh, wait. I know this building. This is the old-burned out high school. Look, there's the cafeteria, and that's the gym, and the broiler room." 

"And the red dot ..." Buffy prompted. 

Xander gulped hard. "It's right over the library, Buffy." 

The library. She traced her fingers over the spot, where there used to stand their fortress against all dark things. Looking down at it, she could almost smell the musty books, feel the energy that vibrated there. That room had been their sanctuary and home for three years, but it also had a greater significance, buried deep under the piles of charred rubble, dormant but never gone. 

"The Hellmouth," she said softly. "They were going for the Hellmouth." 

# 

"So it's over now, right?" Anya asked hopefully, while counting money from the cash register. "I mean, you killed them all, so no more opening the Hellmouth, right?" 

"I guess so," Buffy said, sliding into a chair at the table. "They could have been alone, but I don't really know." 

The blueprints of the high school laid on the table, held down at the corners with heavy spell books -- "At least they're getting some use," Willow had said of the volumes -- and Willow, Xander and Buffy had circled around to examine the map for any other clues. Dawn was off counting inventory on the upper levels, and Anya was behind the counter, doing her joyous dance of capitalistic superiority. 

"What do you think, Wil?" Buffy asked her friend, who was chewing her lower lip in thought. 

"I don't know. You're sure that you searched the crypt thoroughly, and there were no spell books or charms or anything like that? Just the blueprint?" 

Xander said, "That, and the stuff in the bag. We found a couple other knives, but that was it." 

Buffy nodded her agreement. "We scoured the place and came up with nothing." 

"Then my guess is that these guys weren't working alone," Willow said. "I mean, without a spell book or something, all they could do is stand in a circle around the big crater and sing campfire songs. It wouldn't do them any good, but it might be kinda interesting to watch." She ran her fingertips over the red dot. "I'm guessing they're like an advance party. You know, scouting the area, gathering information before reporting back to some big boss." 

"Maybe," Buffy said, "but _who_ is the big boss?" 

"Do I look like I'm all-knowing?" Willow asked sarcastically. "Besides, it's just a theory, and probably not a very good one." 

"Right now, it's the only theory we have." Buffy stood to stretch her arms overhead. "Well, I think we've done all we can for tonight. We should all keep an extra close eye out for any unusual stuff, or stuff that's more unusual than usual." She looked up toward the second level and raised her voice, "Dawn?" 

Her sister popped her head over the railing. "Yeah?" 

"It's time to go." 

"I'll be down in a minute. I just want to finish with cataloging this shelf." 

"Don't be long. It's already late, and tomorrow's a school day." 

Dawn nodded and crawled back over to the bottom shelf she had been examining, mumbling to herself the whole time, "Don't be long, Buffy says. It's late, and you're just a child and heaven forbid you stay up past your bedtime." She reached for a leather-bound book. "Don't go looking in spell books, Dawny, because you're too young and impressionable. Like anyone remembers I'm a mystical key that's older than all of them put together." 

She flipped open to the title page, which read, "Transmutation and Animal Magics for the Advanced Level." That wouldn't help her unless she wanted to rat herself up like fuzzy Amy, and it certainly would be of no use in locating Spike. She set the book back on the shelf. 

"Dawn, come on!" Buffy yelled. 

Dawn grated her teeth. "Coming! Just a minute." 

She grabbed another volume, this one thinner and with a majestic purple cover. "Self-levitation for Beginners," it said. That might prove fun for later, maybe learning how to fly to school instead of walking every day. Still, not what she needed. Dawn had a nasty suspicion that the spell she wanted didn't exist, no matter what Willow had said. 

She wouldn't stop looking, though. Not ever. Buffy wasn't the only one who felt the pain of Spike's absence. He had been the only one to really understand Dawn, to treat her like a person instead of a child. As much as she loved her sister and Willow, both of them had been too wrapped up in their own problems to pay her much attention. Buffy had sunk herself into Slayer mode, in an effort to forget the loss of Spike and Giles. Willow pined after Tara and obsessed over _not_ doing magic. No one had time to wonder whether maybe Dawn was hurting, too, but she at least was going to do something about her problems instead of just brooding. She would locate Spike, go find him and convince him to come back. 

"Dawn!" Buffy sounded angry now. 

"All right, all right!" She pulled a random book off the shelf and stuffed it in her backpack before climbing down the ladder. "Geez, keep your pants on, OK?" 

Buffy sighed. "Come on. We're going home." 

Buffy, Willow and Dawn said their goodnights to Xander and Anya and headed out for the long trek home. Normally, Dawn hated having to walk and wished with every step that her sister would buy a car, but tonight she enjoyed it. She tuned out Buffy and Willow's conversation -- like she cared about some vamps who had colored in the old school library on a map -- and instead thought about when she would see Spike again. In her fantasy, he was so happy to see her and they hopped a plane for Sunnydale and arrived on Christmas morning. What a present that would be for Buffy: Spike beneath the Christmas tree. 

_I know I will find you,_ she thought, the words circling over and over in her mind. _You can't hide from me, Spike, so don't even try._

# 

TBC ... 


	5. "No heroics, OK?"

**Title:** Abandoned, chapter 5  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  
**Spoilers:** Through "Tabula Rasa"  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** R -- for language and nongraphic sex  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Author's notes:** Whew! These chapters keep getting longer and longer, and my fingers are tired from all the typing. But, I've always heard it said that the length of a story is determined by how long it takes to tell it. Maybe that's stupidly obvious, but it's something I keep repeating to myself. Mostly because this is becoming the longest story I have _ever_ written, and I'm only halfway to the finish line. 

Anyway, enough of my rambling. Time to get to the part you all actually _want_ to read (at least, I hope that's the case, since you opened up this story in the first place). 

Oh, one last thing. Please keep sending the feedback, be it praise or criticism. That's my desperate plea for the evening. I'm not used to putting so much effort into one story. The more feedback I get, the happier I'll be, which means I'll have more incentive to write quickly. 

Ahem. And now, on with the show ... 

# 

Spike aimed for an unobtrusive entrance, as the demons of London were notorious for their suspicion of strangers, and rightly so. He should have known, though, that any unknown vampire sauntering into the pub would draw attention. All faces turned toward him as he walked through the door, and he promptly froze. Yellow eyes regarded him, belonging to vampires and other things, demons he had never seen in his 120-odd years. Conversations dwindled, then died, and over the silence he heard the commentary of a football game piping from a TV over the bar.

_Come on, you ninny,_ he thought. _Get a hold of yourself. They're your own kind._ But were they really? A small voice questioned whether he belonged to this community of monsters and killers anymore, when he had come here to spy for their worst enemy. At least they wouldn't recognize him, despite the tales that had crossed the globe of the turncoat vampire. Before leaving New York, he had dyed his hair to dark brown, and this evening he had left his duster at the hotel room. The two trademarks of Spike, set aside. At least for now.

He smirked for his audience, then sauntered inside, up to the bar and the only empty stool. A few demons looked away, returned to their drinks and conversations. Spike took advantage of the respite to scan the room more closely. About half the patrons of the crowded room were vampires, so the famed Carlos could be any one of them, or none. This lead could prove as useless as every other one he had followed this week.

He nodded to the bartender, a stocky bloke with skin that molted from a healthy red to ghostly white, depending on his mood. Now the little demon shifted to a pale pink. The stranger in their midst had unsettled him somewhat.

"Welcome. We don't get many new faces in here," the barkeep said as he rubbed obsessively at the counter with a dirty rag. "We're all keeping a low profile. So you'll have to forgive the boys if they're a little nervous."

"No problem, mate," Spike said. "Understandable."

He could see, from the corner of his eye, the demons nearest to him visibly relax. He wondered why, then realized this was the first he had spoken since entering, revealing himself as an Englishman, one of them. Of course they would feel more certain of a fellow countryman than of a foreigner, because they all depended on each other here, to stay alive, to keep safe from the dreaded Council.

Until he had arrived here, Spike hadn't had a clue as to what the Watchers Council did nowadays, since one of the Slayers had brushed them off and the other sat in jail. Now they kept busy with purging Britain of the pestilence of demons, starting with its crown jewel of London. Spike had had a couple of close calls himself this week and had almost taken the next flight back to the States -- until he had remembered those vamps in California who had talked so casually about killing Buffy. As for this place, if the Council found out about it, they'd put it out of business before sunrise, probably with a few well-placed bombs. The Council liked bombs.

Upon hearing Spike's accent, the bartender also relaxed, and his skin returned to its normal fire-red hue. "What can I get for you, then? We had a good shipment of A-positive come in this morning. Nice and fresh."

"Actually," Spike said, "I'm looking for information."

Again, conversations hushed around them.

The bartender gulped. "You're in the wrong place, then. We just serve drinks here."

Spike had encountered this same fear at other places, and by now he had practice in how to handle it: Small, careful steps. He thickened his accent as he said, "Oh, I think I'm in exactly the right place. See, I'm looking for a bloke named Carlos, and word is that he comes here a lot. I don't mean him any harm. I just want to talk."

A three-eyed demon a couple seats down shook his finger at Spike. "We don't know any Carlos, and maybe it would be best for you to leave. We don't want trouble."

Murmurs of agreement rose from several patrons.

"That's right," said another. "We don't know who you're talking about."

"Yeah. Just leave!"

So much for civility. These guys were too paranoid to believe a stranger might have decent intentions. Time to try another approach. Spike slipped into game face as he casually reached across the counter, grabbed the bartender's shirt and yanked him closer. He growled, "You're going to tell me where he is."

The barkeep's skin molted white, and he trembled. "Or what? You gonna kill me? The boys here would rip you apart in a second if you tried."

"Then why do I smell fear?" Spike asked, deadly quiet.

Another vampire, clean-cut and nicely dressed, stood up in the corner, away from the bar and half-hidden in shadows. He held up his hand and said, "Enough. We don't want any trouble here. I am Carlos." He nodded as Spike looked his way. "That's right. You've found me. Now let him go."

_Finally, some luck comes my way,_ Spike thought as he pushed the bartender back and made his way across the room, the crowd parting before him. Behind him, he could hear the barkeep muttering about short-tempered vampires.

Spike stopped directly in front of the man who called himself Carlos. He looked too neat, like an accountant or a librarian, certainly not anyone's connection to a demon Mafia. Yet his pale skin marked him as a vampire. Perhaps this pansy was the one Spike needed to talk to, after all.

After a few tense seconds, Spike extended his hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm William."

Carlos cautiously shook his hand and gestured to the table. "Have a seat."

Tension eased throughout the pub, and Spike guessed at why: If Carlos thought well enough of the stranger to invite him to his table, then he must be all right. The demons turned away in earnest this time, going back to their drinks and gossip with nervous laughter, granting the two vampires some privacy.

"So," Carlos said as they sat down, "what can I do for you, William? It must be rather important, that you would risk such a confrontation to find me."

"I'm looking for the Big Man."

Carlos smiled, amused. "Straight to the point. I like that."

"I find that's the best way to gain trust," Spike said in all honesty. Creating trust early meant he could lie later and be believed. "The Big Man has something going down soon in America. At least, that's word on the street. I want in on the action."

"Why? What's the Big Man to you?"

This time, Spike gave him a half-truth. "He's a means to an end. I don't care much about whatever he has planned, only if it means I get a crack at the Slayer."

"Ah," Carlos said, smiling again. "Well, William, I will let you in on a secret. You're a little late. The Big Man has already left for California. In fact, he might be there already. But," he added, as Spike's face fell, "I've been directed to send new recruits to meet him in Sunnydale. The more vampires there, the more powerful the spell."

Spike leaned closer. "What spell?"

"To open the Hellmouth, of course."

"And the Slayer?"

"She'll show. You'll get your chance at her." Carlos took a sip of blood from his mug without spilling a drop on his well-tailored suit. "I like you, William. You remind me of my younger days, when I too had that passion for killing. So I'm going to do you a favor and, as you say, let you in on the action. You want to meet the Big Man? All you need is the password."

Ah, yes, the information he needed. "Tell me."

Carlos looked around them, making certain they had no eavesdroppers, then whispered, "du Lac."

Spike was taken back, as that name brought up memories of an earlier time, of curing Drusilla after they had first arrived in Sunnydale. It seemed lifetimes ago. "As in Josephus du Lac? Wasn't he into some powerful magics? Dark spells. Vampire restoration and such?"

"You know your history," Carlos said, nodding in respect. "But some of his spells are much more powerful, and dangerous, as you will soon learn." He rose from his seat and straightened his blazer. "Now, unless there's something else I can do for you ..."

Spike also stood. "No. Nothing else. You've been very helpful."

"My pleasure."

As Spike nodded in farewell and swept from the pub, all eyes once again on him, he strained to hold back a grin. Not only had the poof given him the key to infiltrating the Big Man's gang, but he also had granted Spike an excuse to return to Sunnydale. Maybe he would see Buffy and Dawn again ... just a glimpse of them, anyway. He suddenly felt in such a good mood that he sang old Ramones tunes all the way back to his hotel.

# 

Spike wasn't the least bit surprised to find a guest waiting in his room. Whistler came and went indiscriminately, sometimes vanishing for days before making another appearance. Now he lounged on Spike's bed, munching on chips and watching TV. He licked the crumbs off his fingers and grinned as Spike entered. 

"The hero returns," he said, no sarcasm in his voice. 

"I'm no hero," Spike snorted, "and I don't want to be. That's the Slayer's gig, and she can keep it." 

"Testy tonight, aren't we?" 

"It's your bloody fault that I'm here in the first place," Spike muttered as he crashed on the bed beside Whistler. He pulled his cigarettes from his back pocket and lit one up. "I would've never left except for you showing up out of nowhere and turning my life on its head." 

"News flash: You're dead, so it's kinda hard for you to have a _life_, per se. Besides, you're the one who chose to leave Sunnydale. All I did was supply you with information." 

"Oh, yeah, there's a choice. Stay, and you're gonna get the woman you love killed." He took a soothing puff at his cig, and rolled over to regard the demon. "What are you doing here, anyway? You never come by just to chat." 

"I'm here to warn you." 

"Surprise, surprise." 

Whistler sat up and pressed the remote button to turn off the TV. "I'm serious here. I know what you're thinkin', and you can't go back to Sunnydale. It will end badly. Remember all those dreams you've been having? The Powers are sendin' them to you for a reason." 

"Hey," Spike said, startled. "How do you know about my dreams?" 

"Hello. Connection to the Powers." He leaned forward intently. "Look, nothin' is written in the stars. There is no such thing as an unavoidable fate. But this one is as close as they come. I'm telling you, if you go back, either you or your Slayer is going to end up dead." 

"If I don't go back, there are no maybes -- she _will_ end up dead," Spike retorted. "I have information she needs about a plot that could kill her and her little sis. This is what you asked me to do, stop the bad guys before they can get to her. It just so happens that to do that, I have to go back to the source." 

"I can't stop you --" 

"No, you can't," Spike said curtly. 

"But I _strongly_ advise against it." 

"I'm going. End of discussion." 

"Fine," Whistler said as he slid off the bed and headed to the door. "But when you end up dead or cryin' over her grave, don't say I didn't warn ya." 

Whistler left, and Spike laid out on the bed, thinking. His cigarette smoldered to ashes in his hand, without his notice. What if Whistler was right, and this could only end in death? Then he would just have to make sure that Buffy survived, no matter the consequences. At least he would see her one last time before he went. _Bloody hell, I'm whipped for sure. Caring more for her life than my own._

He snuffed out the cigarette, rolled off the bed and started packing his few belongings into his duffel. The sun would rise soon, so he could do nothing else tonight, but he planned to be checked out at sunset and back in the States before another 24 hours had passed. 

# 

If Dawn could express her excitement without drawing unneeded attention, she would have. Climb to the roof of the Magic Box, jump up and down and yell out for everyone to hear: She had found the spell. That elusive locator spell really did exist, in the back of a thick book she had found stuffed behind jars of sage and chicken feet in the magic shop basement. She felt certain that Willow had personally hidden the book there, knowing Dawn wanted the spell and didn't like going into the spooky basement. She might never have stumbled onto it except that Anya had asked her to restock the salamander eyes. 

Now, all she needed were supplies. She ran one fingertip down the short list: a map (she had a U.S. map at home and that should be plenty big enough), a few stinky chemicals she could snitch from stock in the basement, and a Charm of Atlas. She didn't have that one, but the book handily provided a color sketch in actual size. It looked like a necklace pendant, shaped like a sword with a small blue jewel in the hilt. Dawn was half-certain Willow had one, which would make sense as she had done the spell before. 

The magic itself seemed simple enough -- certainly easier than her attempt to bring back her mother. She should be able to work it, assuming she could get her hands on Willow's charm and wheedle some time away from her over-attentive guardians. Shouldn't be too difficult, as she had been left with Anya every night for the past week while Buffy, Willow and Xander went out on group patrol. The three friends were so distracted by the influx of vampires coming into town that they hardly had time to notice little Dawny. 

"Dawn!" Anya's voice drifted downstairs. "Have you found those eyes yet? There's a customer up here who would like them _now_." 

Oops. In her excitement, she had forgotten her original reason for being down here. "Yeah, I've got 'em! I'm coming up." 

With the ingredient list committed to memory, she slipped the book back behind the jars of chicken feet -- no sense in taking it until she had everything she needed -- grabbed the bottle of salamander eyes and raced upstairs. 

# 

Buffy knelt in the winter-browned grass, in front of an expectant Xander and Willow, who were blowing into their chapped hands. The crypt loomed behind them. Buffy whispered, "It's definitely another nest. There are maybe six or seven vamps inside, plus some guy chained to the wall." 

"Human?" Willow asked. 

"I think so," Buffy said, "but it was hard to get a good look." 

"All right then," Xander said, all business, "what's the plan, Buff?" 

Buffy sighed and looked over her shoulder at the crypt. She really _really_ didn't want to do this, to clean out another nest. This would make the third one in as many nights. She hadn't seen so many vampires in Sunnydale in months; most had arrived in town recently, judging from the makeshift set-up of their hideouts, but for what, she couldn't guess. It probably was related to the blueprints, which meant it had something to do with the Hellmouth, which equaled _bad_ in the worst sense of the word. 

As she studied the crypt, one of the cemetery's larger ones and also the site of the previous night's staking fest, Buffy began to feel like she was stomping ants: Kill a few, knock over their hill, and suddenly you're bombarded by the little suckers. In the past week, it seemed for every vampire she dusted, five more took its place. She had to keep stomping, though, however futile her actions seemed. 

"We'll do it pretty much like the past couple of nights," Buffy said. "I go in first and get their attention. You two follow, do just enough to push them off balance and get the human out." 

"Gotcha," Xander said, then started ticking items off on his fingers. "Surprise vampires, free helpless human guy, run like hell. Sounds like a good plan." 

"And be careful," Buffy emphasized. "Watch each other's backs. No heroics, OK?" 

Willow snorted. "Trust me, I'm feeling very non-heroic this evening." 

"Glad to hear it," Buffy said. She took a couple of deep breaths to gather her nerve. "Let's do it." 

They slunk toward the crypt, Buffy in the lead. A glance back confirmed that Xander and Willow had their weapons in hand: crossbows, and holy water in tiny, fragile glass vials. Buffy carried only her stake. She cracked open the crypt door and peered inside. One vampire was feeding on the deathly pale human, whose wrists were chained above his head, and the other vamps had crowded in a circle nearby to pass around a bottle of alcohol. _Drunk_, Buffy thought with relief. _That should make this a bit easier._

She nodded the go-ahead to her friends, then kicked open the door and marched inside. The stink of cigarette smoke and blood assailed her senses, and she coughed. Couldn't demons at least learn _some_ basic sanitation? The vampires, all male, scrambled unsteadily to their feet as Buffy smirked down on them from the top of a short staircase. The feeding vampire wrenched away from his prey, blood trickling down his chin, and his victim groaned weakly. At least the guy was still alive. 

"You're having a party, and you didn't invite me?" Buffy asked, pouting. "I'm hurt, really. I hope you don't mind that I'm crashing." 

One of the vampires smashed the alcohol bottle against the wall, splintering glass everywhere and leaving a jagged weapon in his hand. "It's the Slayer," he growled. "Get her!" 

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Here we go again." 

They vamped out and rushed at her. Buffy knew she couldn't take them all at once, so she focused on the one with the broken bottle, who appeared to be the leader. She dove off the staircase, right at him, and they crashed to the floor. The others closed around, then she heard the sound of breaking glass vials and the vampires started smoking and running. Willow and Xander had arrived with the holy water. 

Meanwhile, the Buffy's opponent had rolled them over, with him on top and the broken bottle inches from her neck. She pushed him off, and they both jumped to their feet. She punched his face, then aimed a roundhouse kick for his weapon. The bottle went flying. Buffy kicked him again, and he stumbled back against the wall, where she staked him. 

She turned and frantically looked for her friends, who had backed into the crypt's opposite corner. They seemed to be out of holy water and crossbow bolts, but they must have dusted a vamp or two because only four were left, all of whom were closing in around them. In the few precious seconds it would take Buffy to cross the crypt, Xander and Willow might already be dead. 

"Hey! Over here!" Buffy yelled, but the vampires didn't take the bait, apparently choosing to focus on the easier targets. "I killed your leader you morons, so come and get me!" 

Still, the vamps closed in on Xander and Willow, who huddled together. Buffy ran toward them. She had only made it halfway across the crypt when the biggest vampire grabbed Xander by the throat and lifted him. Xander's eyes widened in disbelief as his toes dangled inches off the ground, and he made strangling noises. 

Buffy had made it three-quarters of the way there when Willow yelled in Latin, pushed out with her palm and all four vampires flew across the room. Buffy dove for the floor and felt cold air whoosh across her back a vamp sailed overhead, crashed against a wall and slid down, unconscious. A dense cloud of dust erupted from where Willow stood and pushed outward, making it difficult for Buffy to see anything, let alone fight. 

Xander fell on the floor at Willow's feet, and he rubbed at his neck. Willow, blacked-out eyes drooping, slumped into the corner and slid downward. It didn't matter because three remaining vampires were fighting each other to get through the door. The unconscious one looked like he would be out for a while. 

Buffy ran to her friends. "Oh my god, Xander! Willow! Are you guys OK? I mean, when I saw that vampire lift you off the ground I thought ... I mean ... oh my god." 

Xander waved her off and rose to his feet under his own power. "It's all right. We're all right, Buffy. But if Willow hadn't done her magic thing there ... I don't know, but I think that vamp was about to rip my head off. Literally." 

"Magic. Oh god." Buffy knelt by Willow and shook her shoulder. No reaction. She felt at Willow's neck for a pulse and relaxed a little as she found it, steady and strong. "She's just passed out." 

"But why? I mean, Willow is, like, a witch extraordinaire. One spell shouldn't have affected her like that." 

"I don't know." Buffy stood and pushed back a few strands of hair that escaped her ponytail. "Maybe it's because she hasn't done any magic at all for the past few weeks. Maybe it's like athletic training, that if you stop, you get out of shape and it's hard to get back into it right away." 

"Maybe. Oh, look, her nose is bleeding." Xander pulled a tissue from his coat pocket and knelt down to wipe her face. At his touch, Willow stirred and moaned weakly. "Hey, I think she's coming around." 

Willow opened her eyes, back at normal color, and said, "Did we win?" 

"Yeah," Buffy said, soothingly. "Most of them got away, but we're all OK." 

"And that guy who was chained up?" 

Buffy's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, I forgot." 

She hurried over to the man, who was passed out and slumping against his chains. Bite marks covered his neck and bare chest, and his wrists were raw and bloody from where he had pulled against the handcuffs. Buffy ran her fingertips lightly over him, assessing damage, then pressed her hand flat against his chest. She could hardly feel his heartbeat. 

"He's alive, but only barely. We need to get him to a hospital." She yanked on the chains, which held secure to the wall. "Is there a, um, a key or something? A way to get these handcuffs off him?" 

Xander pointed. "There's something shiny over there, on top of the sarcophagus. Yep," he said, holding it up. "It's a key." 

He brought it over and unlocked the cuffs. Buffy caught the man as he fell forward, then eased him to the floor. Willow joined them, although it looked like her legs might give out at any moment. 

"Willow, can you walk?" Buffy asked. 

"Give me a few minutes to recover. I'll be OK." 

She looked at them both. "All right, then. Take a couple more minutes, then get this guy out of here and to the nearest house. Call 9-1-1 or something. Just get him to a hospital." 

"What about you, Buff?" Xander said. "We could use your help carrying him." 

"You can handle it." Buffy looked at their other unconscious patient, the vampire crumpled against the wall. "I have something else I need to take care of." 

# 

After Xander and Willow had left, leaning on each other as much as carrying that man, Buffy chained the vampire to the wall and slapped him across the face until he revived. He looked dazed for a moment, then, catching on to his situation, growled and yanked at the chains. Buffy stood just out of reach, arms crossed and a satisfied smile playing on her lips. 

"Doesn't feel too good, does it?" she asked smugly. "Chained up. Helpless. Unable to run or fight. It's downright scary." 

"Let me go!" 

"Oh, I don't think so." She moved closer, trailed the key down the vampire's collarbone. "You see, you're the first vampire we've managed to capture recently. So before anything else happens, you're going to answer some questions for me." 

The vampire spat. 

"Now that wasn't very nice," Buffy said, wiping off her face. Then she punched him, and his head snapped back. "Who sent you here? Who do you work for?" 

He snorted. "You actually think I'm going to tell you that?" 

"A vampire with loyalty. Huh." She pulled a stake from her coat pocket and tossed it between her hands. "That's pretty surprising, since most vampires are more interested in saving their own skin than in protecting someone else's. It's part of the whole demon-soulless thing, I think." 

"What are you talking about, Slayer?" 

"I'm talking about killing you. As in, if you talk, you walk. If you don't talk ..." She rammed the stake into his shoulder, and the vampire whimpered. "Then, we're gonna be here for a while. Until I get tired of hurting you, and then I'm going to kill you." 

The vampire slumped forward and shook his head. "I can't talk. I'm dead if I do." 

Buffy yanked the stake out of his shoulder and pressed it over his heart. "You're dead if you don't. At least if you talk and I let you go, you have a running start on whoever might be after you." 

"You don't understand," the vampire said, flinching away from the stake, then wincing as the movement aggravated the wound in his shoulder. "You don't know the Big Man. He'll find me. He has ways ..." 

"The Big Man?" Buffy asked. "Who's that? Is that your boss?" 

The vampire's eyes widened in horror, that he had revealed so much. He started trembling with a force to snap bones and, in a move that took Buffy by complete surprise, lurched forward onto the stake. It sunk into his heart, and Buffy found herself holding her weapon steady against a cloud of dust. The empty chains clattered against the wall. She stared at them in dumb amazement. 

"He staked himself," she muttered to no one. "He would rather stake himself than face his boss. That's just ... weird." 

She tucked away her stake, did one last scan of the crypt to make sure she hadn't missed any clues and, satisfied that nothing was there, went outside. After all the dust floating about the crypt, the cool winter air felt like balm for her lungs, and she breathed in and out a few times just to see the little clouds puffing from her mouth. Cold and crisp. A perfect winter night. 

Yet something was missing from this scene. Oh, yes. Now would be about the time _he_ would come strutting around, her neutered vampire in black leather. He always showed up at the most annoying times, catching her alone, after a fight, when her adrenaline was pumping and her skin felt searing hot. It was at those times she was most vulnerable to his sultry charisma, like she would melt if he touched her. If he kissed her... 

_No, no, no,_ she thought firmly. _No kissing. No Spike. He left me, and he's not coming back. Just like Angel, and Riley, and Giles..._

Buffy pushed those brooding thoughts aside as she tucked her hands in her pockets and hurried toward the magic shop. She would do fine on her own, without any man in her life, because men equaled trouble. Much more important to focus on other things, like taking Dawn home and assuring Anya that her husband-to-be had survived another night of patrol. Plus, she needed to call the hospital to make sure Xander and Willow had arrived without incident. 

Most important of all, she had to find out what was going on with the undead convention. So as she walked, she replayed her conversation with the vampire. _The Big Man._ That's what the vamp had said. Sounded like the bad guy in some cheesy Mafia movie, the head honcho who petted a fluffy white cat and whose face you never saw. Or was that from James Bond films? Didn't matter. The important thing was that they now had a little more information. Buffy hoped it was the key to unlock this mystery, because she had a suspicion that time was running out. 

# 

TBC ... 


	6. "The things I do for that girl..."

**Title:** Abandoned, chapter 6  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  
**Spoilers:** Through "Tabula Rasa"  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** R -- for language and nongraphic sex  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Author's notes:** As always, please send feedback. I'd love to hear what you think about the story, where I'm taking it and such. 

# 

Dawn shut and locked the door, quietly, to avoid drawing attention. Buffy was out on patrol. Again. Seemed that was all she did in the weeks since Spike's disappearance. Xander, Anya and Willow, though, had stayed behind at the house to work on research, which meant Dawn needed to use more stealth then she had originally planned. So she left them downstairs, saying she had a mountain of homework, and retreated to her bedroom to do exactly what they all absolutely forbade her to do. 

She spread the supplies on the floor behind her bed, hidden from view should someone come knocking. The U.S. map she laid out flat, and from her jewelry box she retrieved the sword-shaped Charm of Atlas, hanging off a silver chain. Willow hadn't noticed the pendant missing from her room yet, and, with any luck, Dawn would return it without anyone the wiser. Last, she pulled several plastic baggies of herbs from her backpack, and the spell book. 

"OK, now time to get started," she muttered as she flipped open to the correct page. She read the spell's instructions aloud. "Sprinkle herbs evenly over map, dangle charm over map and say the required words while focusing thoughts and energy on the person and/or object you wish to find. The charm will point to the location of the person/object in question. ... Geez, it reads like a textbook. But it sounds easy enough. OK, then... sprinkling stinky herbs ..." 

From each baggie, she took a pinches of powder and spread them, until the map seemed to be coated in a fine layer of dust. Then she looped the chain over her fingers and let the pendant swing freely over the East Coast. 

"Hope this works," she said, and closed her eyes to picture Spike. She visualized him the cemetery, black duster falling about his combat boots, a mischievous glint in his eyes. With the image firmly in mind, she turned to the book and read. "Arabia, goddess of the lost, I invoke thy name, to light a path, to lay bare what is hidden ..." 

As she spoke, the small jewel in the pendant's hilt glowed a brilliant green and the herbs began to swirl like a light mist. Dawn's heart pounded harder, and it took all her self-control not to drop the pendant. 

"Send a guide, oh Arabia, I beseech thee ..." 

The mist became a tiny whirlwind, focused directly under the pendant, which began to swing like a metronome. The jewel glowed like a vicious eye. _Spike. Think about Spike_, she reminded herself. With a trembling voice, she finished the spell. "In the eye of the storm, reveal what is lost!" 

The pendant went shooting across the map, jerking Dawn's hand behind it. It halted just as abruptly, the tip of the tiny sword poking at a specific place on the map. She was able to read the city name before the herb whirlwind exploded outward in a rank cloud. Catching a lungful, she started coughing and dropped the pendant, which went dark as it fell from her hand. 

Someone pounded on her door, and Dawn yelped in surprise. Whoever it was fiddled with the locked knob, then pounded again. "Dawn! Are you OK?" It was Willow's voice. "Dawn, answer me!" 

"I'm fine," she choked out. 

"Open the door!" 

"I'm coming." She stuffed all the supplies under her bed, then opened a window to blow out the cloud of herbs. Still, her room smelled of rotten eggs. Willow kept pounding on the door. 

"Dawn, what are you doing up here?" she asked urgently as Dawn let her in. "There was this loud rumbling noise, and all the electricity shorted out for a second and ... why is it so dusty in here ..." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and she sniffed the air. "I know that smell ... you've been doing a spell." 

"No -- no, I haven't," Dawn answered hastily. She picked up a textbook off the bed. "See, math. No big." 

"What was it, Dawn? Were you trying to find Spike? After I specifically told you not to?" 

Dawn stammered, "No -- I, um ... I was --" 

"Don't lie to me." Willow's eyes flashed angrily. 

"All right, all right." Dawn slumped her shoulders in defeat. She detested getting caught. "So, I was trying to find Spike. What's the harm? Buffy misses him, and _I_ miss him, and he could be a big help in stopping whatever is going on with all the vampires. We _need_ him here." 

"But at what cost?" Willow sat on the bed, and Dawn sat beside her. "You used the invocation of Arabia, right? That is a _very_ advanced spell, conjuring forces that are way beyond your control. Even I never did that spell alone. Without the proper focus, you could have hurt yourself or let loose something terrible..." 

"But I didn't," Dawn assured her. "It worked just fine. The pendant did that little glowy thing, and it pointed at the map, and --" 

Willow grabbed her shoulders and shook lightly with every word. "Don't. Do. It. Again. Do you understand me? It's too dangerous." 

Dawn pulled away, sulking. "Fine. But aren't you the least bit curious where Spike is?" 

"No," Willow said, but her sidelong look indicated otherwise. 

"He's in Sunnydale." 

Willow's parental attitude melted away at that, and she gaped. As she leaned in closer and whispered, she looked for all the world like a teenager catching up on the day's juiciest gossip. "Are you sure about that? Spike is in town?" 

Dawn nodded. She took a strange satisfaction from her guardian's reaction. "Yep. The tiny sword pointed right at Sunnydale. No doubt about it." 

"Oh my god, do you know what this means?" Willow broke into a grin. "We have to page Buffy. Right now." 

# 

To find the Big Man, Spike needed only to follow his footsteps home. Not to the crypt, of course. Not yet. He did want to retrieve some belongings he had forgotten when hightailing it out of town, but going to the crypt meant entering the cemetery, which would increase his chances of running into Buffy. As much as he ached to see her -- his jeans felt uncomfortably tight every time he thought of their last night together -- this wasn't the right time. He had tasks to accomplish first. 

Even with the cemetery off limits, though, Spike knew of a few other likely prospects for vampire central. Sunnydale had only so many places where an army of the undead could set up base and not attract undue notice. After stopping by a butcher's shop for dinner, he drove to the burned-out factory, but its only occupants were rats, snakes and several of Drusilla's worn dolls. With his one-time lover in mind, Spike tore the heads off a couple of the pale, brown-haired variety before moving on. 

Next stop, the mansion. This time, instead of just busting in, he opted for a more careful approach. He crouched behind some nearby bushes and watched for signs of activity. He didn't have to wait long. Two vampires soon came strolling up the driveway, not even bothering to act stealthy, and went inside. A different vamp came out a few minutes later for a smoke. 

Bingo. He had found them. Now, how to get inside ... 

The direct approach always seemed best, so Spike emerged from his hiding place, straightened his clothes, and marched up to the front door. The weaker, human part of him wished he had worn his duster -- the closest thing he had to a security blanket -- but he knew that would give away his identity too quickly. Just as the platinum blond hair would. Without either of his trademarks, Spike felt less like himself, almost naked. _But I'm still me,_ he thought fiercely. _William the Bloody. A bad- ass vampire who takes crap from no one. Well, except maybe from Buffy... and Dawn ... and that annoying Whistler bloke. But everyone else, watch out because here comes Spike ..._

"Password," said a tired-looking vamp at the door, the one Spike had seen smoking. 

"Du Lac," Spike answered promptly, and the vampire stood aside. 

Spike had never liked the mansion, he mused as he entered the crowded foyer. It resurrected days of being confined to a wheelchair and losing Drusilla to their poof of a sire. How many nights had he spent rolling around the lower level, struggling to regain his strength and plotting against Angel and the Slayer? He had lost count. Too many, at any rate. No doubt about it, this place he would rather forget. 

Yet here he was, playing double-agent, risking his hide, all for the sake of a woman who probably never loved him in the first place, no matter she had made his dreams come alive for one mind-blowing night. _The things I do for that girl ..._

Spike started his search for the inner sanctum, the place mostly likely used as offices for the Big Man. Everywhere he went, vampires scurried around like so many worker ants, going about their assigned tasks with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes. No one spoke. Their fear was almost tangible, and Spike wondered what could spark such powerful emotions in the ranks of the soulless. 

He wandered into the main common room and suddenly found himself away from the bustle. The only occupants here were a council of vampires relaxed in a half-circle of easy chairs around the crackling fireplace, which burned mostly for show as the undead had no need for heat. The vamps talked quietly among themselves and failed to notice as Spike approached. He didn't know how he knew, but Spike felt certain he had found the generals of this operation. 

"Well, now, this is something you don't see every day," he said, arrogant and swaggering. The vampires looked up at him, startled. "I mean, this place is great. You have it spruced up so tidy, and all those vamps at your beckon call. It is quite a sweet set-up." 

One of the vampires leaned over his arm rest and regarded Spike. He looked hardly older than 10, with the frail body of a child, but his eyes told a different story. "Who are you?" he asked quietly, his voice tinged with a British accent. 

"Who are you?" Spike shot back. "The munchkin king?" 

As Spike laughed at his own joke, the boy's eyes narrowed angrily and he waved his hand. Suddenly, Spike found himself floating several inches off the floor. The boy held out his open palm, then slowly closed it into a fist. Invisible hands clutched at Spike's throat, choking him even though he had no breath. He grabbed at them, trying to pull them off, but encountered nothing but air. Strangled noises escaped his throat and the world went black around the edges. 

"I asked you a question, vampire," the boy said calmly. "Who. Are. You." 

"William," Spike choked out. "Carlos ... sent ..." 

The hands released him, and he crashed to the floor in a heap. Bloody hell! What was that? A warlock vampire? A powerful one, at that, to make a creature choke who had no need of breath. No wonder all the blokes around here were scared out of their knickers, if they got that kind of treatment. He glared daggers at the boy as he hefted himself to his feet. 

"Let me guess," Spike said. "You're the Big Man." 

"Correct," the boy said, nodding. "Now answer another question for me. Why would Carlos send me such a brash, arrogant vampire?" 

Spike shrugged and barely held back a grin. Brash and arrogant. He liked the sound of that. "I told 'im I could care less about opening the bloody Hellmouth. I just want a shot at the Slayer. I can, of course, take her out before she has a chance to muck up your plans. What I _won't_ do is be one of the scared-shitless slaves you have running around this place." 

The other vampires murmured, and the Big Man smiled. "Ah. I see." 

"So, tell me, since you're the head honcho around here, whether you'll let me at her. Give me a not-so-pathetic group of vamps to order around. I'd be oh so grateful and help you destroy the world." 

"I'll have to think on it. Until then, I insist that you stay here at the mansion." He snapped his fingers, and a meek vampire girl came running in. "Show William to one of the guest quarters. Make sure he has everything he needs." 

The girl bowed and led Spike from the room. Although he'd never admit it, he felt a wash of relief to get away from that eerie kid-who-wasn't. Reminded him too much of the Anointed One, except the Big Man obviously had more power. Spike knew he would have to watch his step around here. 

# 

Willow sat on the living floor with Dawn, helping her with math homework, and Xander and Anya were cuddling on the couch with a pile of bridal magazines, when Buffy slammed open the front door and stormed inside. Her hair flew askew, and her clothes were dusty from fighting. 

"Is something wrong? Is Dawn OK?" she asked breathlessly, then saw the lack of panic on her friends' faces and backtracked. "...You all look OK. Unless you're struggling with an evil homework demon." 

"We're fine," Xander assured her. 

"Yep, we're good as gold," Anya said. Then, with a little grin, she added, "I always liked gold." 

"Then what's with the page?" Buffy held up her beeper. "I was kind of thinking emergency, but ... obviously not." 

Willow gave Dawn a sidelong glance and said, "Well, a couple of things, actually." 

After the spell, Willow and Dawn had agreed not to say anything about Spike, at least not until Buffy had arrived. Xander especially hadn't been heartbroken about the vampire's disappearance -- he had suggested, when Buffy wasn't listening, that they have a party -- and he wouldn't be throwing streamers to know Spike had returned. In fact, he'd probably find a perfectly logical reason as to why they should say nothing at all to Buffy. So, Dawn and Willow had come down to the living room, grinning like idiots, and had kept their mouths shut. 

Now, as Dawn watched Buffy stuff her pager into her pocket and fold her arms, that emotionless look on her face, she remembered why they needed Spike here, no matter the cost. Buffy had been withdrawn, different, since her resurrection, but after the whole song-and-dance thing, that had changed. She had smiled more, joked around; she even once got into a tickling match with Dawn, the two of them rolling around on the floor and giggling until tears streamed down their faces. Dawn had felt like her sister had finally returned to her. 

Then Spike had vanished, and everything fell apart. When Dawn looked at her sister now, she didn't see Buffy Summers. She saw the Slayer. Hardly anything remained of that passionate spirit. It was all slay, slay, slay. Kill, kill, kill. Sacred duty and such. But no fun. No jokes or smiles or tickle monsters. 

Spike could change that. Dawn knew, deep in her gut, that he could bring out the Buffy in her sister. 

"I'm waiting," Buffy said flatly. "What was so important that you took me away from patrol?" 

Willow cleared her throat, nervous under that stony glare. "First off, I found some information on this Big Man guy, and I thought you'd like to know. Just in case, maybe, you ran into him or something." 

"I thought the book stuff was coming up nil." 

"Oh, it was," Willow said. "That's why I got on my laptop, to see what kinda stuff I could find. And, lo and behold, the Big Man has a Web page." 

Buffy blinked. "He what?" 

"Yep, it's all right there on the Net. Oh, there aren't any pictures or great stashes of information or anything. But there was an open invitation to all vampires to come to Sunnydale and open the Hellmouth." 

"Did it say _when_?" 

"No. Sorry. Just some vague reference to the 'Night of All-Comers.'" She grinned. "Sounds like some weird party, huh? Where all the vamps get together and have boxing matches?" 

Xander sighed. "It's times like this I wish Giles was still here. He knew where to look to get the good info." 

"Sure, just as long as he doesn't want my store back," Anya said. 

"And I wish Spike was here," Dawn said longingly. "He could help Buffy beat up on the bad guys." 

"I don't need anyone's help," Buffy snapped. "Not Spike. Not Angel, or anyone else." 

"I'm just saying--" 

"Dawny," Buffy said, softer this time. "Spike is gone, and he isn't coming back. And, frankly, I think it's better that way." She returned her attention to Willow. "So, is that it? No other big breakthroughs in research?" 

Willow sighed and looked away. "Nothing else. We'll keep looking." 

"All right then. I'm going back out on patrol. Lots of vamps to kill." She started toward the door, then looked back. "Um, you did say there were a couple of things you wanted to talk about. What was the other?" 

"Oh, nothing," Willow said quickly. 

The front door shut, and Buffy was gone. Willow ducked her head and refused to meet Dawn's eyes, instead becoming engrossed in checking over a math problem. She looked guilty as hell, and, Dawn thought, she had every reason to. 

"You didn't tell her?" Dawn asked, amazed. "Why didn't you tell her? It's what we paged her for in the first place." 

"I know, I know." Willow dropped the textbook and finally met Dawn's hurt, bewildered stare. "But, Dawny, didn't you hear what she said, about it being better this way? I just couldn't say anything after that ..." 

Dawn crossed her arms stubbornly. "I still think Buffy needs to know." 

"Um, not to intrude," Xander said, raising his hand. "But what are you two talking about?" 

Dawn glared at Willow. "Go ahead. Tell them." 

"Um, ... well, you see ... the thing is ..." 

"Oh, give me a break," Dawn said, rolling her eyes. "Spike is back. He's in Sunnydale. " 

"Spike is _what_?" Xander asked, incredulous. "He's here? Now? Why?" 

Dawn shrugged. "Don't know. But Buffy really _really_ needs to know about this." 

"No, she doesn't," Xander said curtly. "We should just let fang-boy do whatever it is he's here to do, then let him leave again. And good riddance to him." 

"But Spike could help. You know, with the whole Hellmouth thing," Dawn said. 

"Spike is nothing but trouble." Xander disengaged himself from Anya and started pacing, his long legs carrying him across the living room in only a few strides. "Am I the only one who remembers all those times he tried to kill us? How about when he kidnapped me and Willow to make her do that love spell? Or when he teamed up with Adam and tried to set us against each other?" 

Dawn was on her feet now, fists clenched at her sides. "And how about how he helped you guys patrol all summer, after Buffy died? He stayed with me when you were having your secret Scooby meetings. He kept me safe when those crazy motorcycle demons came roaring into town." 

Xander stopped pacing, right in front of her. He wrapped his hands around her shoulders and looked earnestly into her eyes. "Spike is a soulless demon. If he stayed here, he would soon get bored with being one of the good guys and go back to his evil ways. It's better to just let him go." 

"I don't believe you!" Dawn ripped away from his grasp, tears threatening to fall. "Spike is good, and he's my friend, and he's the only one of us who can make Buffy like she used to be. Can't you all see that? She's been lost without him, and now that he's come back, I'm not letting him get away again!" 

She sobbed, ran up the stairs to her bedroom and slammed the door. Xander stood stunned, staring at the place where she had been standing moments before. He looked at Willow, who returned his gaze with pity, then at his fiancée, and up the stairs. At a loss of what else to do, he sank to the floor and held his head in his hands. Willow patted his shoulder in consolation. 

"Well," Anya said, chipper as always. "That went well." 

Xander peered up at Willow hopefully. "You agree with me, don't you, Wil?" 

Willow grimaced. "Actually, I'm with Dawny on this one." 

"Me, too," Anya said. At Xander's wounded look, she hastily added, "He's not really so bad, you know. Spike, I mean. He took me to a party once." 

Xander sighed. It always happened like this, when it came to vampires. First Angel, and now Spike. He just had to accept that these were battles he would never win. 

# 

TBC ... 


	7. "No emotions. Like a robot."

**Title:** Abandoned, chapter 7  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  
**Spoilers:** Through "Tabula Rasa"  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** R -- for language and nongraphic sex  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Author's notes:** This chapter is a bit shorter, partly because there's not as much to say, partly because I've been busy this week with holiday-type stuff. Not much time for writing. 

# 

The army of minions relaxed up somewhat during the day, when they were free of the ever-watchful eye of the Big Man and his generals. No one could leave the mansion during daylight, so they slept, or gambled and drank. Spike opted for the latter. Vampires tended to talk while they played, and loose tongues made for valuable information. 

He found a poker game in a vast expanse that used to serve as a dining room. Now it looked more like a bar, but without the order. Loud, smoky. Brawls frequently breaking out. Blood splattered everywhere. A row of humans chained to the back wall, weak and helpless, their bodies covered in bite marks. Spike's mouth watered at the site, but he simultaneously felt a wave of revulsion, his stomach doing a slow, nauseating roll. _Damn you and your conscious, Slayer,_ he thought. _Can't even think about biting a human without worrying about what you'd think._ He deliberately looked away. 

Soon after, Spike had settled in at a table with three other vamps, his back to the human buffet, a pile of chips in front of him, which meant little, of course, since the Big Man had outlawed actual gambling. They played only to pass the time, the chips merely a means of keeping score. One of his tablemates offered a beer, but he passed -- as much as he wanted a drink, he needed to stay sober. He dealt the cards. 

"So, William, how long have you been here?" asked the only female vampire at the table. Her hair and heart-shaped face reminded Spike of the witch, so he dubbed her Red. 

"Since last night," he replied, then looked at his cards. Pair of Kings. "How about you?" 

"A week." 

"And you guys?" Spike asked the other vamps. 

"About the same. A week. I read about this on the Net and rushed over from Las Vegas," said the second one, whose hair was gray at the temples. He muttered a couple of curses as he fanned out his cards. Not much for the poker face. Must have lost a tidy sum in Vegas. 

"I've been in this hell hole for a month," said the third, bitterly. "Cooped up in this dank place, taking orders from a kid who could probably kill everyone here just by looking at 'em. He promised an apocalypse, but all I've done so far is run away from the Slayer a few times. Man, I want some _real_ action. The destroy-the-world variety." 

Spike's ears perked up. He tried to looked uninterested and said, "The Slayer, huh? You've seen her?" 

"Yeah. Tough little minx. I watched her take out an entire patrol a couple of nights ago. I barely escaped." His mouth twitched as he examined his cards, then he threw a couple of chips into the center. "Ten to start." 

"Call," Red said, then added, "I heard she's like the Terminator. You know, no emotions. Like a robot. Just keeps coming and keeps killing. That's what everyone is saying -- those who have escaped, anyway, and there aren't many." 

_No emotions ... like a robot._ Spike closed his eyes against the pain that washed through him at those words. He couldn't let it show. Not here. But hearing what had happened to Buffy, that she had mostly likely shut down after he left ... it's what Whistler had wanted. That she would only rely on herself, not give in to her emotions. But his Slayer deserved better than that. 

"Call," Second said. 

"Call." Spike threw in his chips, then gave out new cards. He said, nonchalantly, "So what about this apocolypse. Is it going down anytime soon? Because I don't bloody well want to stay here any longer than I have to." 

"Don't know," Third said, shrugging. "They don't tell us anything." 

"Tomorrow night," Red said confidently. 

They all looked at her, and Spike said, "You sure about that?" 

"Yeah. I overheard the Big Man talking about it with one of the generals last night. I mean, I wasn't trying to listen in, but it's kinda hard not to when they're standing right there. Anyway, Big Man says 'Is everything ready?' And the general says, 'Almost. The Slayer's still a problem.' And Big Man replies, 'No matter. She won't stop what is foretold. Two nights hence, the world will end.'" 

"Wow," Second said, so dumbstruck that he inadvertently lowered his cards enough for everyone to see. "That's just ... wow." 

"I second that," Third said, nodding. "Finally we get some action." 

Spike grunted his agreement, but his mind whirled elsewhere. Two nights? He had to find Buffy, and fast. Give her the information, then maybe get her and her sister out of town. No, that wouldn't work. The Slayer in her would never allow it. She would say something about her soddin' sacred duty and then march in to get killed, like in his dreams. Buffy, motionless in the dirt, her blood pooling around her and staining the earth red. Dawn crying over her body, glowing green eyes staring up at him in scathing accusations. _Won't happen,_ he thought. _Not ever. Not if I can help it._

"So are we going to play or what?" Second asked curtly. 

Third cleared his throat. "Oh, right. Um ... ten." He tossed her chips into the center. 

Red said, "I see your ten and raise you five ..." 

So it went around the table, and ended with a larger heap of chips in front of Spike. They were ready to start a new hand when two bouncer-sized vampires appeared seemingly from nowhere and stood behind Spike's chair. Their massive bodies cast shadows over the table, and Spike twisted around to look at them. 

"William," one of them said, staring right at him. "Come with us." 

Spike's fellow poker players regarded him with wide eyes as he shrugged, threw his cards on the table and stood. "Sorry, mates. I'm out. Got other places to be." 

He followed his guards from the room like a good little minion -- nervous, head bowed, shoulders hunched -- but inside he was grinning. He had new information, and now he was on his way to see the Big Man. With any luck, he would be out on patrol this evening, on the pretense of killing the Slayer, leaving him free to pass on intelligence and save her cute butt once again. 

# 

Willow spread out the street map of Sunnydale on the thick carpet, smoothed it flat, then simply stared at it, as though hypnotized, lips set in a thin, tense line. Dawn noticed the same tension in her shoulders, and the tiny vein that popped out in her forehead. Willow licked her lips, took a deep breath and kept staring. 

"Are you OK?" Dawn asked gently, although she already knew the answer. Willow hadn't done much magic recently, except for that fiasco during the crypt fight, and she hadn't been too thrilled when Dawn had suggested this spell. "I mean, if you don't want to help, I could probably do it on my own. I did before." 

"No," Willow said quickly. "No, it's too dangerous for you to do alone. And this is the best way for us to find Spike. So we need to do this. Now. We need to do this now." 

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself." 

Willow grimaced. "Maybe I am. It's just -- I've been staying away from the magic thing since the whole memory spell went kablooie, and ..." Her voice trailed off, and she shook herself. "Never mind. Can you, ah, hand me the herbs, please?" 

Dawn obliged, and Willow spread the powdery substances over the map. She picked up her Charm of Atlas and rubbed her thumb over the tiny jewel imbedded in the hilt. "Now, Dawn, remember that I'm taking the bulk of this on myself. I'll say the chant and do the spell. All you have to do is think about Spike, so we keep the magic focused on finding him. Understand?" 

"Yeah, I know. You've only told me a zillion times." Dawn reached out slowly and closed her fingers over Willow's free hand. "Are you ready?" 

For an answer Willow dangled the charm over the map, closed her eyes and recited the spell. Dawn concentrated hard on Spike, thinking about the night they had broken into the magic shop. The two of them, cross-legged on the cold floor, hunched over Giles' notebook. She focused on hearing his voice ... _so they sent the Key to her in the form of a sister_ ... That had been a tough night. Earth shattering. After that, nothing had stayed the same. But she was glad, looking back, Spike had been with her when she had learned the truth. 

Dawn became so absorbed in her memories that she only vaguely noticed the tiny whirlwind form on the map, and the jewel that glowed brightly, casting a eerie green light over everything. Just like before, the charm suddenly shot across the map, and it pointed at a spot just outside downtown. The whirlwind continued to spin madly. 

"Crawford Street," Willow muttered. "Of course, at the old mansion." 

"The what?" Dawn asked. 

"Where Spike, Dru and Angel lived after Angel turned. Remember?" 

"I actually wasn't around then, but, yeah, I remember." Dawn nodded at the pendant. "Is it supposed to do that? I mean, just stay there? When I did the spell, the herbs went poof, and then there was the whole stink factor ..." 

"This is what's _supposed_ to happen," Willow said with a small smile. "If you keep your energies focused, you can hold the spell for hours. But that's, well, kind of unnecessary in this case cause we've found him now and --" 

"Willow, look!" Dawn pointed frantically at the map. "The pendant. It's ... it's moving!" 

Willow looked, and it took all her magical discipline to stay focused and keep the spell from exploding. Dawn was right. The pendant was slowly making its way up Crawford street. They watched, mesmerized, as it inched across downtown, passed the old high school and entered the town cemetery. 

Dawn licked her dry lips and said, in a small voice, "The cemetery? Didn't Buffy say that's where she would be patrolling tonight?" 

# 

The fight quickly became strenuous, her opponents more skilled than in several weeks, their attack more coordinated, their punches hitting home with more frequency. She stumbled back into a headstone and tumbled over it backward, but her quick reflexes allowed her to roll to her feet with fists up. 

Now this felt good. The pain and struggle, the thrill of edging so close to death. The intoxicating scent of vampire dust and her own blood, mixed with the cemetery's stale fragrance of death. Something dark inside her sang out and pushed to the surface, overtaking her senses, bringing everything into sharper focus. She became so _aware_ of everything. Every blade of grass, every moonlight-drenched leaf. 

She didn't fight the battle haze as she had in her younger days, when she feared losing herself in its seductive freedom. No, now she welcomed it. It's why she patrolled every night, for hours on end ... for a few seconds of this blissful release from her gray reality. 

"Come on, then," she taunted her attackers. "Unless you're too tired already and would rather run away." 

The vampires, five of them this evening, took her up on her offer and charged all at once. She sensed a sixth vamp behind her, but he hadn't moved in several minutes, preferring to watch under the cloak of darkness. She would worry about him later. 

Buffy ducked under the first vampire's swing and stabbed her stake upward into his heart. Two others got behind her and grabbed her arms, holding her immobile while a third approached. She kicked out with both feet at that vamp, then rammed her arms together, bringing her captives with her. They banged into each other head first and fell limply into the grass. She staked them both. _Three down..._

The last two charged her from either side. She stepped back at the last second, and they collided where she had been standing, their arms and legs entangled. She staked one, but the other slammed his fist into her face. Blinding pain exploded behind her eyes, and she reeled. The vamp punched again, and she fell onto her back, dazed, and she felt her stake being wrenched from her hand. 

_So this is how it ends_, she thought with calm detachment, as the vampire raised her own weapon, ready to plunge it into her chest. Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to move. _Finish it. Send me back now. Please._

She closed her eyes, ready for her second release from life, but it didn't come. Instead, she was assaulted by a lungful of dust, and her stake dropped into the grass by her hand. Buffy's eyes snapped open, to see the sixth vampire, the one who had been watching, leaning over her, holding out his hand. 

Suddenly released from her immobility, Buffy's fingers closed around her stake and she grabbed the vampire's wrist, only to throw him to the ground. He grunted at the impact. She rolled over to straddle him and stabbed downward. 

"Buffy, no!" 

The words startled her. She knew that voice. Buffy stopped her killing thrust just as the stake pierced his skin. Blood welled around the wound, soaking into the black T-shirt, but neither vampire nor Slayer noticed as she finally met his wide blue eyes. At first, the words wouldn't come. She could only stare. Unbelieving, shocked, the only sound between them her ragged breaths. He looked so different, with the dark brown hair, and through her battle haze, she hadn't recognized him. Then he groaned in pain, his eyes squinting shut, and the spell broke. Buffy found her voice, small and far away to her own ears. 

"Spike?" 

# 

TBC ... 

The plot thickens! Please let me know what you think. 


	8. "I cried over you ..."

**Title:** Abandoned, chapter 8  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  
**Spoilers:** Through "Tabula Rasa"  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** R -- for language and nongraphic sex  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Author's notes:** Hey, everyone! Thanks so much for the feedback. I really appreciate it. This will probably be the last chapter I post until after the new year ... real-life obligations getting heavy around the holidays. 

# 

_Spike?_

That one word passed her lips so quietly, Spike wondered whether he had imagined hearing it. She stared at him, disbelieving, her lips working silently, like she wanted to say more but couldn't. He knew how she felt. After so many dreams of her straddling him, then staking him, he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't fallen asleep again. Moments from now, he would awake at the mansion, or in his car, and she would vanish like a star in the sunrise. 

Then again, maybe not. The stake buried halfway into his chest was real enough, as was the scent of his own blood soaking into his shirt. One wrong move might drive her weapon into his heart -- but he wasn't dead yet, and that fact alone convinced him this was reality. In his dreams, Buffy didn't pull back on her killing thrust. 

"Yes, luv. It's me." He winced as her hand trembled, and so did the stake. "Do you think maybe you could pull that out now?" 

"Oh! Sorry." 

She yanked it out, and Spike clenched his teeth to keep from yelling. _Don't be such a baby, you soddin' poof,_ he berated himself. _A little hole in the chest won't kill you._

He said, "Now, if you would move, pet, we could --" 

Buffy cut him off by leaning over and smashing her lips against his. That certainly qualified as moving. Not exactly what he meant ... but, hell, he wasn't complaining. Spike's eyes drifted shut, and he returned the kiss with enthusiasm. He reached into her hair, pulling out the elastic band that held back the soft waves. Her legs clenched harder around his waist, and her pelvis starting moving in interesting ways. Spike groaned. He coaxed her mouth open with his tongue. 

Gods, it had been so long, and it was so good. The taste of her, the feel of her hot, human body pressed against him. She smelled of sweat and blood; her hair, falling around his face, carried the familiar fragrance of her shampoo. He wanted her. No, _needed_ her, like he needed to feed. How could he have ever given this up? 

Spike bucked his hips suggestively. Buffy moaned into his mouth, then stiffened and pulled away. 

"Spike? Is it really you?" She ran her hands through his dark hair, shooting pleasurable sparks straight to his groin. "You look different." 

"It's me, Slayer," he said huskily. "I thought we already covered this." 

"You came back," she said, amazed, then in a more thoughtful tone, "You're really here. After you vanished, I thought ..." 

Her expression suddenly changed, eyes narrowing in that angry, better- than-thou-Buffy way that he knew so well. Spike's ardor drained away as surely as she had pulled a plug. Oh, that familiar look. He knew what came next. 

Buffy's open palm smacked his cheek. 

"Ow!" Spike yelled, rolling his jaw. "I think you broke my face!" 

"Bastard!" Buffy screamed, then punched him in the nose. 

"Ow!" 

"You stupid, arrogant, self-righteous, pig-headed _vampire_!" she spat, and with every word, she punched him again. Then she stopped and simply glared at him, arms crossed. 

Spike rubbed his mashed nose. "Have you run out of insults yet? Because I don't think my face can take much more of this." 

"You left me." 

"Yeah, I did. To save your life, you stupid bint. And now I'm starting to rethink the whole thing." 

She blinked. "What?" 

Spike sighed. "Look, why don't we go discuss this in some place a little less public. If any vamps come by and see you straddling me, they're going to report it and I'm dust." 

"Oh my god," Buffy said, horrified. "You're not working for the Big Man, are you? I can't believe this. You abandoned me to go work for a crazed vampire who wants to destroy the world?" 

"Buffy, it's not like that." 

"Then what is it like?" she asked curtly. 

"The sooner we find a more private place, the sooner you find out." 

"All I can say, Spike, is that it better be good, or you won't have to wait for the Big Man. I'll stake you myself." 

She picked up her weapon from the grass, tucked it into her coat pocket and stood up, not even bothering to offer him, the injured vampire, a hand. Typical. Buffy had gone into bitch mode. He knew he deserved it, but that didn't mean he had to like it. 

Fine. If she wanted to play that game, he would oblige. Instead of jumping to his feet, Spike lounged out in the grass and took his time appraising her, inch by inch, head to toe. Her lips were slightly swollen from kissing, her hair mussed, and her coat smeared in blood from where she had pressed against his chest wound. And she had lost weight, Spike noticed. Hardly more than a stick, like he could break her over one knee. Despite that, she still looked like an angel. His warrior angel. 

The longer he looked, the more she shifted from foot to foot. A flush reddened her cheeks, and she looked away nervously. Spike couldn't help but smile, her reaction giving him hope. She might act the part of the superior Slayer, but deep down, she couldn't hide that she was happy to see him. 

After a moment more of simply watching her, Spike dragged himself to standing, one hand pressed to his throbbing chest. "That crypt over there," he said, pointing. "Should be good for talking." 

# 

The crypt was empty of vampires, which irked Buffy a bit. She needed to kill something. Having Spike here, watching him settle onto the sarcophagus in a manner somehow both relaxed and predatory, had unnerved her. He didn't look right anymore. The brown hair just didn't fit, and he had forgone the leather duster. He still moved with the same menacing grace, though. And he hadn't given up his cigarettes, either, obvious from the rectangular lump in his back pocket. 

His new look shouldn't matter at all, though, because in the world according to Buffy, Spike had vanished for all time. He had left her and wasn't coming back ... and yet, he had returned. That knocked her off kilter, yanked her from her safe, familiar playground and dumped her into a new place. She didn't know how to behave here. Hence the kissing and punching and screaming and cussing, all reactions she hadn't been able to control. Buffy Summers _hated_ losing control. 

A good bout of violence would restore her equilibrium, but as she hadn't run across anything worth killing, she would have to settle for the next best thing: taking out her anger on Spike. 

"All right," she said, her tone clipped and indignant. "We're in private. Now talk. Why did you leave, and why are you back?" She held up her hand, cutting him off as he prepared to answer. "Wait. Let me take a guess at the first part. After I left that morning, you got a visit from Whistler, who fed you some crap about how Slayers and vampires aren't supposed to mix and that if you didn't leave, it would end with one of us in the ground. And you bought it. Hook, line and sinker." 

Spike blinked, then grinned sheepishly. "Good guess, luv. Except the part about it being crap." 

"That is such bullshit, Spike. How could you believe him? You didn't even say goodbye! You just left a pathetic little note." She pulled it from her coat pocket, unfolded the wrinkled paper and read. "'I hate goodbyes. It's better this way.'" She wadded it up and threw it at him. "You have no right to decide what's best for me." 

Spike picked up the paper from where it landed beside him, smoothed it out and stared dumbly at the smeared ink. "You kept this?" he asked quietly, his eyes darting between the note and her. "You carry it with you?" 

"I -- I, um -- I forgot it was in that pocket until I put on my coat this evening," Buffy stammered, then hated herself for it. He wasn't supposed to get all tender and boneless, taking her anger away. She wanted a fight, not affection. 

He saw right through her lie, of course. Buffy could tell, from his strange expression, that he couldn't decide whether to be amused by her backtrack or awed by what it meant. As he looked at her like that, with those candid blue eyes, she suddenly ached to forget the past and throw all caution aside. Allow him help her forget her fears and mistrusts, if only for a while. 

Damn. The anger had gone, at least for now. She sighed and admitted defeat. 

"All right. So I kept it." She slid beside him onto the sarcophagus and tried to ignore its cold through her thin pants. He scooted over to give her more room. "Did you even consider the consequences of what you did? Did you think about how it would affect me? Or Dawn? She loves you like a big brother, you know." 

Spike sighed and shook his head. "I'm -- I'm sorry, Buffy." The words stuck in his mouth. "It seemed like the best thing to do at the time, and I didn't have a thought for the Nibblet. I guess if I could do it over--" He stopped, pondered that for a moment and looked up at her frankly. "I won't lie to you, luv. If I could do it over, I would do it the same." 

"What?" she sputtered. My god, had she heard him right? To think only seconds before, she had been ready to forgive him. Buffy jumped off the sarcophagus and backed away, her righteous anger soaring gloriously to life. "You would do it _the same_?" 

"You _needed_ it, pet," he said firmly, his hands clenching and unclenching on the cold stone beneath him. "You needed to relearn how to depend on yourself instead of on others. First you turned to Giles, and then when he left, you turned to me. But it was wrong." 

"Is that what Whistler said?" she spat. 

"Yes. But it happens to be true. You needed to find your own way, without Giles or me or anyone else. And it wasn't going to happen until you were forced into it." 

"I cried over you, you heartless bastard!" 

Spike's shoulders slumped a little. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I know I'm a bad man. But it had to be that way." 

"So what now? Hmm? Lesson learned ... all's well so you come prancing back like nothing happened?" She stalked up to him and yanked at the front of his T-shirt, pulling him closer, meeting him eye to eye. "I have news for you. I will _never_ trust you again. I opened up to you once. I _gave_ myself to you, and you betrayed me." 

"You _threw_ yourself at me. There's a difference, pet. It's not like I was asking for it." 

"But you took it." 

"Damn right I did. Woman I love, puttin' on a strip show and begging for sex? A bloke would be bloody stupid to pass that up." 

"I beg for nothing." 

"You did that night, Slayer. You _wanted_ it. And you still do." 

They stayed like that for a moment, but it felt more like an eternity, eyes fixated on each other, close enough that any movement would bring them in full body contact. _No, no contact. Contact bad,_ Buffy scolded herself, but she couldn't help it. After all that had happened, she knew he was right. She yearned for him to pull down the walls she had so painstakingly constructed, to make her human again. He was still the only one who could do it, who could make her feel something besides this soul- numbing cold. 

_No. I can't make this mistake twice,_ she thought, while another part of her screamed out for surrender. But, as always, her will won out over her instincts. _I won't let him hurt me again, or hurt Dawn. It's better this way, if she never knows he was here._

"It doesn't matter what happened between us," she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep calm. "Because it won't happen again." She pushed him away. "I want you to leave Sunnydale and never come back." 

Hurt flickered across his expression -- stabbing at her own insides, as well -- but it vanished quickly enough, tucked securely behind a facade of trademark Spike cockiness. He pulled out a cigarette and lit up. "Too late for that, pet." 

"I'm warning you, Spike ..." 

He snorted. "What? You gonna kill me? I don't think so. Not when you hear what I have for you." 

"And what's that?" Buffy asked, folding her arms slowly, deliberately. "Maybe some more heartbreak, along with a little sarcasm and a few insults on the side?" 

He ignored the barb. "How about information on the local vampire infestation." 

Silence. He blew out a long column of smoke. 

Finally, Buffy found her voice, and it trembled even more than before. "So you are working for the Big Man. I should have known." 

"Believe what you want, luv. Doesn't change the truth of the matter." He flicked ashes onto the floor and sucked deeply on his cigarette, taking his time, making her wait. "The point is I have information that could mean the difference between you defeating this wanker and his army of vamps, and the deaths of all your chums." He grinned smugly. "Seems to me like you need old Spike around after all." 

"Yeah. Like I need a hole in the head." 

He shrugged. "Suit yourself, then. Just don't go blaming me when you have to bury all your little friends." 

He snuffed out his cigarette, dropped the butt to the floor and sauntered toward the exit. Buffy dug her fingernails into her palms. She wanted desperately to tell him to wait, but he had to make the next move. Spike had to prove that he still deserved her trust. He had taken so much from her when he left, and now he had to give something in return. 

Maybe he realized that, too, because he stopped in the doorway and, without looking back at her, said, "It's gonna happen tomorrow night. At the Hellmouth. Big Man will have enough vampires there to fill Times Square on New Year's Eve and enough hocus pocus to pull off just about anything he wants." 

"And that's all you know?" Buffy said contemptuously. "We've figured out that much on our own. I knew you wouldn't be of any help --" 

"Du Lac." 

She stopped in mid-insult. "What?" 

"Josephus du Lac. Into a lot of black magic, especially dealing with vampires. I bet Red would know the name." 

"Spike, what are you talking about?" 

He twisted around to fix her with a frustrated stare. "Do some research, Slayer. Pull out your soddin' books. Connect du Lac to the Hellmouth, and I'll wager you've found the key to saving the world. Again." 

With that, he left. The silence afterward almost deafened her. 

She suddenly felt drained, like after a major battle, and she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the shivers. Had the crypt been this bitterly cold the whole time? She hadn't noticed; maybe Spike had. No, vampires didn't react to heat and cold as humans did. Their bodies adjusted to match room temperature. Riley had told her that once. Riley. She hadn't thought of him in ages. Wondered where he had ended up. Probably in a jungle somewhere, happily blasting demons apart with ray guns and other fancy government toys. Or maybe he had ended up as dinner for some pretty vampire girl. Dinner ... now that sounded good. A big, greasy piece of fried chicken with mashed potatoes ... 

Buffy's mind continued to drift, flitting from one random thought to the next like a butterfly; touching on each tangent only briefly before fluttering on. She couldn't concentrate. Couldn't think. It was all too much to absorb. 

Spike. Had he really been here? Sitting on the sarcophagus, dragging puffs of tobacco and watching her with those unguarded, beautiful blue eyes? Or had her starved imagination invented the whole thing? Her eyes roamed the empty room, landing on nothing, seeing nothing until she noticed the cigarette butt on the floor. Immediately, everything pulled into focus. 

_So it's true,_ she thought numbly, hugging herself tighter. _Spike is back. He's really here. I wonder what Dawn will think ..._

But had he returned for good, or would he now vanish again? Buffy felt her lungs contract painfully when she thought of him leaving a second time. She had ordered him to go, but she hadn't meant it. Not really. Spike never obeyed her, anyway. So maybe he would come back, like in the old days, showing up at the most annoying times, bringing her information to defeat the bad guys. 

Oh, yeah. Information. He had mentioned a name before leaving. What was it? _Think, Buffy. Think._ Um, Julian, Jonathon ... or Joseph- something. Du Lac? That's it. Joseph Du Lac. 

Finally, a solid lead. Time to get to work. 

# 

TBC ... 


	9. "It's a matter of trust"

**Title:** Abandoned, chapter 9  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  
**Spoilers:** Through "Tabula Rasa"  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** R -- for language and nongraphic sex  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Author's notes:** Sorry for the long delay, but I'm back to writing and will resume my normal posting schedule, about one chapter a week. I hope you all forgive me and come back to read and give feedback. :0) 

# 

Buffy marched home in a trance, feet moving automatically along the well-trodden path. Her mind, however, was on anything except walking, or home, or any of her usual thoughts -- the ones that kept her from obsessing over her bland existence. Dawn's homework, Willow's breakup with Tara, wedding planning for Xander and Anya. Vampires. Demons. Whether Anya would go through with her threat of dressing her bridesmaids in blood larva. 

Instead, she allowed herself to indulge in other thoughts, more pleasurable and painful at the same time. Spike had left ... then returned ... but for how long? She had missed his distinct aroma of smoke and alcohol, and the musty leather. She had missed losing herself in the taste of him, still fresh in her mouth from their interlude in the cemetery. Could she allow herself those escapes again, give herself to him when he might vanish at any time? It all came down to trust, and Buffy didn't know whether she trusted anyone that much anymore. 

Her thoughts carried her to the front door and back to the kitchen, where she found Dawn pulling a pan of brownies from the oven. Her mouth watered at the scent. Just like Mom used to make them. 

"Hey, Buffy," Dawn said while pulling off her cow-print mitts. She flipped off the oven. "Want a brownie? They're a little burned but still full of chocolaty goodness." 

"Um, yeah. That sounds good. Is Willow around?" 

"Nah. She went over to Xander and Anya's about half an hour ago." 

"And she left you here alone?" 

"It's OK, Buffy. I can stay out of trouble by myself. Willow trusts me, even if you don't." 

Buffy held back her retort and instead just slid onto a stool and watched her sister struggle with the pan and a knife. She would talk with Willow later about her irresponsibility -- she should know better. They all had experienced the crisis that came of leaving Dawn to her own devices. After a few more seconds of fiddling, Dawn carried over a mass of crumbled brown stuff, piled on a napkin. She shrugged at Buffy's raised eyebrows. 

"So, I'm not as good a cook as Mom. I can never get my brownies to come out perfect. But they still taste the same, if you eat around the charred parts." 

"They're just fine," Buffy said graciously. 

"So how was patrol?" 

"Oh, the usual," Buffy said between bites. It did taste good. "Vampires. Fighting. Them getting dusty." 

Dawn climbed onto a stool next to Buffy, with her own napkin full of brownie. "And how was your conversation with Spike?" 

"Oh, you know Spike. He was being ..." She trailed off, realization slamming home. She went rigid, and Dawn shrank under her gaze. "How do you know about that? Were you following me? Because I swear to God if you were ..." 

"I wasn't following, Buffy. I promise," Dawn blurted out. "Willow and I sort of did this spell, and we figured out where Spike was. And then we did it again to figure out where you were. And it was in the same place. Don't be mad, OK? I just wanted to surprise you by letting you know he was back, but then I was too late, and ..." She gulped, and continued in a small voice, "You're not mad, are you?" 

Buffy knew she _should_ be mad, and lecture about the dangers of magic and ground Dawn until the next Doomsday. The anger, however, didn't come, now matter how she tried to coax it. Something else took its place, all unexpected as she watched Dawn's fingers play with the hem of her turtleneck. It was something Buffy had been holding back since the night of Spike's disappearance. It started small, like an ache in her belly, but quickly grew and spread like lava through her veins. In that moment, Buffy finally was able to identify to it, that tiny thing that had been holding her back, shutting her down, making her less than human. _Fear._ Once she named it, she felt her universe shift. 

She couldn't vocalize the moment to Dawn, who still watched her, waiting for her well-deserved chewing-out. In fact, Buffy couldn't speak at all. Her throat constricted, and emotion welled up, in her watery eyes and runny nose. She blinked to clear her vision, to hold herself in check, but she only succeeded in releasing tears into little streams down her cheeks. A sob built in her throat. 

She heard Dawn's voice from far away: "Buffy, are -- are you OK? What's wrong?" Her sister seemed so small, like Buffy could pinch her between her fingertips. 

Dawn set her hand over Buffy's, and the last shred of control melted away. She pulled Dawn off her stool and into her embrace. Comforting arms wrapped around her, and she cried into Dawn's shoulder, every sob wracking her entire body. Dawn wisely stayed silent, waiting for Buffy to find her voice. 

"Th -- the night before Spike ... left," Buffy choked out between sobs, "I went to his crypt. I was so tired of -- of _life_ and feeling nothing, and I knew -- I knew Spike was the only one who could help me." She pulled back a little, set her hands on Dawn's shoulders. Dawn deserved to know, and Buffy had to tell _someone_ before this secret sucked her dry. She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and said, "I knew he loved me, and I trusted that he wouldn't do anything to hurt me. So I -- I _gave_ myself to him." 

Dawn blinked. "You what? You mean you ... had _sex_ with Spike?" 

Buffy nodded, a fresh river of tears welling forth. "I thought he could help me feel again. Feel human. And for one night, it worked." 

"And then he left." Dawn hugged her tight. "Buffy, I'm so sorry." 

"Now he's back, and I -- I don't know what to do. I want him to stay, but ... I'm scared. God I am so scared that he'll just hurt me again. _Leave_ me like Angel and Riley and ... and I can't take it anymore. I don't even belong here. It's like I'm afraid to love anyone because all I'm doing is waiting to die again." She thought back to earlier that evening, the vampire standing over her with her own stake, how she had given up. "I've been full of so much fear that I don't remember how to live." 

"But you are alive. You're _alive_, Buffy," Dawn said, unwittingly repeating Spike's words from that blissful night, so many ages ago. "You're alive and you're here, and I love you. And Spike loves you. And the only reason he would leave again is if you pushed him away." 

"We don't know that," Buffy said, shaking her head. 

"I know that." She set her open hand gently against her sister's heart. "And in here, you know that, too." 

"The reason he left before was ... a pathetic excuse." _Damn Whistler,_ she thought. _If I ever get my hands on him ..._ "I didn't push him away then. His leaving had absolutely nothing to do with anything I did." 

"If you'd only give Spike another chance ..." 

"I don't know if I can, or if he wants one," Buffy said with a sigh. She wiped her nose on her sleeve, and smiled weakly. "Thanks. I needed that. I mean, I needed someone to just listen." 

"Sure. Anytime. And I mean that, Buffy." Dawn squeezed her hand and smiled back. "So, um, what are you going to do?" 

# 

"I'm gonna stake him, that's what. I'm gonna pound a stake into him so fast that he won't know what hit him. I was OK with him being back in town. I could deal. But for him to come anywhere _near_ our Buffy ..." 

"Xander, um, maybe that's not such a good idea," Willow said, trying to be tactful. "I know you have this ... thing against Spike, but --" 

"Gee, could that maybe be because he's tried to kill us about a zillion times?" 

"But maybe we should give him a chance to explain first. Before you -- you know ... turn him into a big, non-talkative pile of dust?" 

"Yes. Talk is good. I'm all for the talking." Anya smiled brightly and set a plate of blackened cookies on the kitchen table, between Xander and Willow. "Would anyone like some dessert? They're cajun style." 

Xander poked at one, like it might suddenly grow jaws. "I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but cookies don't come in cajun." 

"They do if you live in Louisiana." 

"And have you ever _been_ to Louisiana?" 

"Of course. I traveled all over, back in the day. I remember this one time, there was this guy in New Orleans who was cheating on his wife with some voodoo mistress of the dark. I still can't believe how many men fall for that routine, with the woman all evil and mysterious. It's so obviously an act. Anyway --" 

Willow pounded the table. "Can we please stay focused here? Spike following Buffy around. Kind of a big deal." 

Anya grimaced and slid onto her chair. "Sorry. But I don't see how it is a big deal. I mean, the two of you sit here arguing over whether to stake him, but your opinions don't matter at all. What's really important here is what Buffy wants. He's a vampire. She's the Slayer. It's her choice." 

Xander looked ready to retort, but then changed his mind and slumped back in his chair, thinking things through. "So, what you're suggesting is that we let Buffy decide." 

"Yes," Anya said. "It's a matter of trust. You ask yourself how much you trust Buffy. And we already all know the answer to that, so ... just leave it up to her." 

"Now there's a novel idea," Xander said. 

Willow added, "But if they've already seen each other, then chances are that Buffy's already decided, and he's either dust, or ... or not." 

"Which makes this whole conversation pointless." Anya smiled brightly and started munching on one of her cookies. "So, who's up for a game of Monopoly? I get to be the banker." 

# 

Spike normally made a point of keeping his cool. It fit well with the overall image he worked so hard to cultivate. So losing his temper, letting that little bitch of a Slayer worm her way inside, was something he generally avoided. No matter how many times she attacked him, insulted him, or degraded him, he responded with a cocky quip or some insightful comment on her own inner turmoil. She'd get mad; he would save face. It always worked. 

And it had worked tonight, too, right up until he had left her. Then the anger had spilled out, and Spike found himself brooding with the best of 'em. She kissed him, then hit him. Yelled, then chatted conversationally, then ordered him to get out of town. Girl was like a bleedin' roller- coaster ride, worse than before he had left. She needed to decide what she wanted, and right quick, before it pushed her over the edge. 

He had other problems besides an erratic Buffy, though. As if she wasn't enough already. He'd have to explain to the Big Man why his team of vamps got dusted and the Slayer was still alive, and it better be a bloody brilliant speech because Spike needed to stay in good graces. Buffy would need his help tomorrow night. Much as he hated her, he also still loved her. He wouldn't let her die again. 

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and let his legs carry him quickly across the cemetery, back toward the mansion. Mist hovered at the tips of tombstones and obscured everything more than a few feet away, but it didn't hide the sky, speckled with stars. It was a beautiful, mild night... but a deceiving one, nevertheless. One sniff at the humid air, and Spike knew a storm was coming. 

Up ahead, on a street corner, he spotted a figure leaning against a lamp post. He got closer, made out who it was, and threw up his arms. "Can't you bloody well leave me alone? Don't you have your own life to live?" 

Whistler shrugged. "My life is serving the Powers, and right now that means keeping an eye on you. It's not like I _want_ to be here. But you're so stupid that you need someone to hold your hand and keep you on the right path." 

"You try to hold my hand and I will pummel you into the pavement." Spike swept passed him and into the street, knowing that Whistler would follow. "So, you're here to dispense more orders, right? Tell me to leave while the getting's good? I have news for you, mate: It's not going to work this time." 

"Actually, I'm here to congratulate you." 

"Yeah, right." 

"I mean it. You tracked down the bad guys, infiltrated their organization, gathered information and passed it on to the Slayer. All without getting yourself killed. _Very_ impressive." 

"All right. What do you want?" Spike asked, exasperated. "There's no way you're heaping on the praise without some sort of catch." 

"No catches. Cross my heart." Whistler jogged a few steps ahead and turned to cut him off, force him to stop walking. "But I do have a warning." 

"Now why am I not surprised?" Spike pushed him out of the way and set off again, cutting through a rank, garbage-strewn alley at the edge of downtown. 

Whistler's voice chased him from behind. "You go back to the mansion and you'll end up dead." 

OK, that was it. Last bloody straw to break his back. Spike whirled around in midstep, grabbed Whistler by his fancy coat collar and shoved him against a wall. "Where in the bleedin' hell to you get all this? Some crackpot crystal ball?" 

"Visions," Whistler croaked out, barely audible. His face was turning tomato red. "Powers ... send me visions." 

"Well, they're wrong." 

Spike released him, and Whistler crumbled to the pavement, holding his throat and pulling in raspy breaths. "Vampires," he muttered. "I gotta tell ya, all this violence is not healthy. You maybe want to think about using some diplomacy sometimes, especially with people who are trying to help you." 

Spike could only stare in disbelief. Help him? Since that morning he had found Whistler in his crypt, his entire existence had been one traumatic event after another. Now, to top it off, the woman he loved would probably never trust him again. By leaving, he had blown his shot with Buffy. _But it saved her life,_ he firmly reminded himself. Either way, with her pissed off or dead, he didn't have a chance of earning her affections. Not now. 

Hell, who was he kidding? A Slayer and a soulless vampire. Together. Happy. It was doomed before it began. _All I wanted was to hear her say she loved me back. Just once. And to make her smile. But will never happen ..._

"I'm going back to the mansion," Spike said, resigned. "If I end up dead, that doesn't matter. Just as long as Buffy and her little sis get through this thing OK. I don't have anything left to live for anyway. Not without her." 

Whistler's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you don't have a soul?" 

Spike walked away and yelled over his shoulder, "Don't come near me again, got it?" 

Whistler didn't follow, much to Spike's relief. He passed a couple of people near the movie theater, but the streets were otherwise deserted, as though the residents of Sunnydale knew something was coming and thought it safer to stay in their homes. Even the town's demon population was keeping a low profile, and they usually had nothing to fear. Spike's stomach growled when he spotted a vampire feeding on some hapless woman on a nearby park bench. His mouth watered, but he kept walking. 

"The Big Man wants to see you." The mansion's door guard stood aside as Spike approached. "Immediately. He's in the usual place." 

The usual place was the sitting room, where Spike had walked in on the Big Man and his cronies for the first time. In the old days, Drusilla had spent most of her daytime hours there, playing with her dolls. She would blindfold them in red velvet, one by one, then set them on the mantelpiece, except for her favorite dark-haired beauty who always sat in the corner. _Do you see, darling,_ Dru often said in her light, drowsy voice. _Miss Edith is being very bad today and cannot play with the others._

Spike half-expected to see her as he entered the room, eyes lit with madness, but all he found was the Big Man, lounging in a easy chair, watching the crackling fireplace. He looked so young, and innocent as the child he had been when turned. His legs dangled inches above the floor, too short to reach down. The other chairs were empty. 

"William, come here," the Big Man said, with the ease of one used to being obeyed, and Spike walked over. The seeming-child turned his ageless eyes on him, and Spike shuddered. "William. That's such a nice name. Regal, royal. But it doesn't fit you. Perhaps we should give you a nickname." 

Spike snorted. "What did you have in mind?" 

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe 'William the Bloody.' How does that sound?" 

Spike blanched. 

"No?" The Big Man smiled grimly. "Perhaps a different one, then. How about 'Spike'? Does that suit you better?" 

This time, he didn't hesitate. With supernatural speed, Spike turned and tore from the room, bowling over a group of vamps on his way down the hall. The Big Man _knew_. How could he have possibly figured it out? Had he had Spike followed when he met with Buffy? 

No matter. The most pressing urgency was to get out of the mansion. He was breathing heavily, despite the futility of it, as he pounded toward the staircase that would lead him to the entry hallway. An army of footsteps hounded him from behind. He was being chased. But they were too far behind to catch him before he could reach the door. Spike couldn't help but grin. This was just like old times, with Drusilla, Angelus and Darla, running from an angry mob, adrenaline pumping. Gods, he had missed the chase. 

At the bottom of the staircase was another group of burly vamps, all in their game faces, waiting to cut off his escape. Some carried stakes. When they saw Spike, they started up, fighting each other to get to him. Vampires at both ends of the stairs -- no escape that way. So in one smooth movement, Spike vaulted the wooden railings and landed catlike on the floor below. He sprinted passed his surprised posse, reached the front door, threw it open and ... 

Collided with the biggest vampire he had ever seen. 

Spike hardly reached the guy's shoulder. He might as well have run headfirst into a wall. He rebounded onto his back, then found himself being hauled to his feet by a mob of grasping hands. His arms got pinned behind his back, too tight to wriggle out. Not for the first time, he wished he had a bigger, stronger build, more capable of breaking free. 

"Hey watch the hair," he said as someone pulled on it from behind. Someone else -- or perhaps the same anonymous vamp -- slapped his butt. The others laughed, and Spike's felt his face heating. 

Moments later, he looked up to see the Big Man descending the staircase, one tiny hand gliding along the railing. Behind him walked another vampire, one that Spike knew he knew from somewhere. Then it clicked. It was Chubby. The vampire he had pummeled outside a bar, the one who led him to Carlos in London. The one Spike had spared. And now that moment of mercy was coming back to bite him in the ass. 

"I knew I should have killed you!" Spike yelled while straining against his captors. "You bloody well betrayed me! You better watch out, because when I get outta here, you're dust!" 

Chubby smirked. 

"Now, now, Spike, that's no way to talk," the Big Man said. "Charlie here trailed you this evening, on my orders, to see how you would handle your first set of instructions. I told you to kill the Slayer. Instead, you gave her information. I'm very disappointed." 

Spike's captors drove him to his knees, on level with their leader. One of those tiny, smooth hands reached out to cup his chin and force his face upward, to meet the Big Man's eyes. Spike expected anger, but he saw sadness. It left him without words. 

"I had hoped you would be what you said," the Big Man continued. "But instead you chose to betray me. Normally, I would simply have you killed, but I must know what you told the Slayer." 

"What, you mean Chubby here wasn't listening in?" 

"_Tell me_, Spike. And I'll make your death quick and painless." 

"I suppose then, that if I refuse, I'm in for a night of hot pokers?" Spike forced a grin. "Right then. I told her we were all having a cake party. Balloons. Streamers. Those little candles that don't go out when you blow on them." 

The Big Man sighed. "You will talk, Spike. I promise you that." He stepped away and waved to his minions. "Take him to the courtyard and chain him up. The sun will rise in a few hours." 

With that, they dragged Spike away, down the familiar passageways and through an ornate door. A light film of clouds had drawn over, obscuring the stars. And the beautiful greenery and night-blooming flowers that Drusilla had love so much were absent, dormant for the winter, but their brown vines crawled down the walls like spiders' legs. The vampires chained Spike in handcuffs against such a wall, hands above his head, vines poking into his back. All of them left, except for two guards, one at each door. 

Well, Spike didn't like to admit it, but Whistler had been right. Coming back had been a gamble, and he had lost. He didn't know what the Big Man had planned, but he knew it would be unpleasant. Maybe even enough to make him talk -- 

No. No, that would never happen. Glory hadn't been able to make him to spill, even when she had smashed glass in his face and poked her fingers into his heart. He had withstood a god, and he would withstand this. Until the sun rose. And then it would be over. 

# 

TBC ... 


	10. "Do you love him?"

**Title:** Abandoned, chapter 10  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  
**Spoilers:** Through "Tabula Rasa"  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** R -- for language and nongraphic sex  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Author's notes:** Again, thank you for the feedback. It means a lot to me. You guys are great! 

# 

They came for him at sunrise, when his muscles were quivering, and the vines against his back cut like razors. He felt raw. Every bit of his body ached, and all he could see was the thin line of death creeping toward him -- the line between sunlight and shadow. 

For hours he had had no company at all except the stars, which ignored him thoroughly and then went to hide behind a thick veil of dark clouds that soon would bring rain. After that, all he had was himself, and his thoughts, which naturally turned to Buffy. He wanted to see her one last time, before they tortured him to death, or let the sun kill him, or whatever diabolical plan they had in mind. He wanted to see her, and tell her ... tell her _what_? That he loved her, certainly. 

Their time together had been bad. Oh, so very, very bad. Two years of foreplay, followed by a few desperate kisses, and one stolen night. He had hurt her in so many ways over the years, and she had hurt him back. Yet through it all, he still felt for her. It was impure, tainted and lustful. But it was love. 

Then came the sunrise, when the clouds turned from black to gray, and an edge of dim light sliced across the stone wall above him. He craned back his neck to watch it creep down, inching closer, promising an agonizing death. Before it could reach him, though, three figures entered the courtyard, hooded under deep cloaks. They unchained his shackles. Spike's useless muscles clenched as his arms dropped, and he would have fallen if one of the anonymous figures hadn't caught him under his armpits. They dragged him inside, away from the hideous light. 

The three shed their cloaks at the door, and one carried a stake. Two other guards joined them, similarly armed. They needn't have worried. Spike could hardly force his arms and legs to stop shaking. Hours on the wall, dangling by his cuffed wrists, had taken their toll. 

No one spoke, but one gestured for him to stand up. Spike didn't even try, partly from his distain for them (and anyone who would challenge the Slayer) and partly from his physical weakness. Two vampires grabbed his arms and started walking, with the others following behind. He wondered, as they dragged him across dusty tiled floors, what new torture the Big Man had in mind. More bodily torments, perhaps, or maybe the Big Man would now resort to magic. 

Strange. They had left him outside for hours, and no one had come to ask about Buffy, or what information he had given her. For one so anxious to know how much Buffy knew, the Big Man certainly was playing it cool. 

They reached the stairs, and Spike had recovered enough to pull himself up, step by agonizing step. He refused to touch the railings, or lean on his captors. He wouldn't give them that satisfaction. With every moment, he felt more in control of his body. A few more minutes, and he would be strong enough for another dash toward the exit -- assuming he lived that long. 

The Big Man sat at his familiar place beside the fire. Spike's captors threw him at their leader's feet and circled behind him like a wall. With the Big Man in front, and a crowd of vampires behind, he could see no hole for escape. That meant he would have to play along. For now. 

"William, I trust you slept well," the Big Man said, as though he were greeting his best friend. "Are you willing to talk now?" 

Spike said nothing. 

"That's what I thought." The Big Man sighed. "It is strange that a vampire, famed for his unusually ruthless and violent nature, would become so loyally attached to a Slayer. You've killed two, haven't you? Yet you befriend this one. What is so special about her?" 

Still, Spike didn't speak. He glared in a way that had made even the toughest of demons cringe, but the Big Man didn't so much as blink. 

"I could use my magic to kill you, or make you talk, but I prefer to save myself for tonight. I will need my energy then." He nodded behind Spike. "Or I could have one of them stake you. But ... you know I won't do that. Yes, I can see in your eyes that you know, but not why. I have a better use for you than death, William." 

"What's that?" Spike asked, his voice weak and hoarse to his own ears. 

The Big Man smiled. "Bait." 

# 

The Scoobies had been at the books for hours. Xander had called in sick to work, Willow had skipped her classes, and Anya, with great reluctance and many complaints about lost money, had agreed to close the magic shop for a few hours. Buffy still forced her sister to go to school, despite Dawn's sulking. But now Dawn had gotten out of class for the day and had rejoined the team, and still they had found nothing to hint at the impending apocalypse. 

"This is useless!" Xander said, slamming shut yet another dusty old book. "You know, it's times like this I _really_ wish Giles was here. Cause without him, we're never going to find anything on this ... this du Lark guy." 

"Du Lac," Willow corrected, without looking up from her volume. 

"How do we know that Spike was telling the truth about this guy?" Xander asked. "We don't know if du Lac actually even exists. Maybe Spike is just leading us on some wild goose chase. I mean, he's a vampire and hence not big with the honesty." 

"Xander," Willow warned gently, with a pointed glance at Buffy, who sat on the stairs, staring at nothing, chin propped up in her hands. She didn't look to have heard Xander's comment. 

"Sorry. It's just ... I mean ..." He shrugged. "I don't know what I mean. But I still think we could be spending our time more productively." 

From Xander's side, Anya piped up. "But Willow's heard of this guy. Right? He really does exist." 

"Right," Willow said. "I know we're run across him before. I just can't remember where." 

"You keep looking then," Xander said. "But I need a break." 

He got up, stretched his arms overhead, and went over to join Buffy. She didn't acknowledge him as he sat beside her. Her eyes were red and puffy, like she hadn't slept in a while, and her hair, usually immaculate, was unbrushed. She also had neglected to put on any make-up that morning. 

"Hey, Buff," he said gently. "How are you doing?" 

Her head snapped up, as though she were waking from a dream, and she gave Xander a blank stare before answering. "Fine. I'm fine." 

"Come on, Buffy. After all these years, I know you better than that. You're not fine. You haven't been fine for weeks. Something big is going on with you, but you can't just keep it all inside." With no response, Xander laid a hand on Buffy's shoulder. "If you need to talk to someone, I'm here for you. You know that. Right?" 

She worried at her lower lip and didn't respond. Xander followed her gaze, past the round table, to Dawn, who was at a shelf, busy hunting for yet another book. He put the pieces together. 

"You ... talked to Dawn. Whatever it is, you told her?" 

Buffy quickly looked away. After a pause, she said, "Yeah." 

It made sense, with Buffy and Dawn being sisters and all, and it was good that Buffy felt comfortable enough to talk to someone. Still, Xander couldn't help but feel a little hurt. He and Willow were her closest, most trusted friends. They had shared everything, for years. Now with her refusal to confide, Buffy had built a wall between them -- a big, tall one, with barbed wire across the top. If she wanted to hide behind her wall, though, he could do nothing to change that. 

"Fine," Xander said, resigned. "I guess, if I'm not needed over here, then I'll go back to the books." 

Before he could stand, he felt a small but strong hand on his arm. 

"Xander, wait. I'm sorry. I --" Buffy bit her lip again. "I'm just having trouble figuring out what I want, or what I should do, or ... or any of it. It's hard to talk when I don't even know what to say." 

"It's about Spike," he guessed, and she drew back in surprise. "Not that hard to figure out. You started acting different after he left." He paused to gather courage, to ask the question that had been bugging him for weeks. "Do you ... love him?" 

At that, her eyes started to water, and she looked at him plainly, with the most unguarded expression he had seen in months. "Maybe. I don't know." A tear fell down her cheek, and words began to rush out. "Before you say anything, Xander, I already know that you wouldn't approve. You didn't like Angel, and he had a soul. Spike doesn't even have that, but --" 

"Buffy," Xander said, cutting her off. "Whatever you want, you have my support. I know that sounds strange coming from me, but I decided it last night. I decided that, well, I just want you to do whatever will make you happy. You deserve that ... to be happy." He quirked a smile. "Who am I to judge, anyway? I'm about to marry an ex-vengeance demon." 

She laughed through her tears, and pulled him into a bear hug. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear. 

# 

"I found him!" Willow exclaimed, and the others crowded around her. "Look here, he's in this book on vampire magics. It says here that du Lac mostly specialized in spells on vampire restoration, bringing a weak vampire back to full strength. That sort of thing." 

"Drusilla," Buffy said, shaking her head. "That was the spell Spike and Drusilla used, the one where they tried to kill Angel." 

"I _knew_ I'd heard that name before," Willow said smugly. 

Anya said, "But what does it say about opening the Hellmouth? Anything at all?" 

Willow flipped through a few more pages, then stopped and pointed. "Here. It's a spell to bring hell to earth, which can only be performed once every hundred years or so, and has something to do with the alignment of the planets. If what Spike says is right, then the conditions will be right tonight. The spell itself involves a focal point -- one person to channel all the energy through -- and at least a hundred vampires. The more vampires, the more powerful the spell. ... Oh, and a sacrificial blood-letting." 

"There's always a sacrificial blood-letting," Dawn muttered, and Buffy squeezed her shoulder. 

"So how do I stop it?" Buffy asked. 

"You have to disrupt the focal point." 

"Sounds simple enough." 

"Not really," Anya said. "I mean, first you have to get to the focal point vamp, who will probably be in the middle of all the other vampires. And considering the number of vamps you've been staking recently, I'm guessing there's going to be a lot more than a hundred of 'em at this thing." 

"A hundred vampires?" Dawn asked, astonished. "How do you fight a hundred vampires? They'd just swarm around and kill you before you hardly got in the room." 

"We need a plan," Xander said. "And fast. It's only a few hours to sunset, and I'm guessing they're not going to wait long to start the party." 

"Here's what we do," Buffy said. "Xander and Anya, you start working on ways to take out mass numbers of vampires -- that means fire, holy water, whatever you can get your hands on. Willow, I know that you're doing your best to stay away from magic, but I think you're going to have to abandon that for one night. We're going to need protection that lasts long enough for me to take out the leader." 

Willow got wide-eyed, like a cornered rabbit. "I don't know Buffy. I mean, I'm kinda out of practice on that sort of thing. Remember what happened at the crypt? One spell knocked me out, and it wasn't even that tough of a spell. What you're asking for ... it's big." 

"What about Tara then?" Xander offered, then gave Willow a sympathetic look. "I know that you and her aren't on the best of terms right now, but she could ... you know ... do the magic thing. Help us out." 

Willow shook her head. "She's not strong enough for this." 

"Besides," Dawn added. "She's out of town. Visiting her aunt in Chicago over Christmas." The others looked at her in surprise, and Dawn shrugged meekly. "We've been keeping in touch." 

"That settles it then, Wil," Buffy said. "I'm sorry, but it's going to have to be you." 

"And what about me?" Dawn asked, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. 

"You are going home to do your homework." 

"What?! We need to stop the world from ending, and you're sending me home to do algebra? No way am I doing that!" 

"I don't want you to be in danger--" 

It's not like I haven't been in danger before, Buffy." 

"I know," Buffy said gently. "But if you're there, then I'll be worrying about you. And I need to be able to focus completely on stopping the bad guys. Do you understand? The most helpful thing you can do is go home and be safe." 

Dawn snorted. "Fine. But I don't like it." 

"All right, then," Buffy said to them all. "Everyone knows their tasks, and we're on a deadline. Let's get to work." 

# 

TBC ... 


	11. "Now we're in trouble"

**Title:** Abandoned, chapter 11  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  
**Spoilers:** Through "Tabula Rasa"  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** R -- for language and nongraphic sex  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Author's notes:** OK, I admit to being way too late in posting this chapter. Bad, bad Jennifer! 

# 

While Xander, Anya and Willow remained at the magic shop and brainstormed on ways to defeat a vampire army and thus avert an apocalypse Buffy walked Dawn home. Rain sprinkled, not even hard enough to get them wet. Dim shadows of trees stretched like elastic across Rodello Drive, and the sisters walked, hand in hand, in silence. Buffy didn't mind the lack of conversation. Spending this time with Dawn, knowing that it might be their last time together, meant more than any words. 

Dawn's hand felt small and warm. Buffy squeezed her fingers lightly, and they smiled at each other. Then they reached the front door and went inside. Dawn threw her backpack onto the couch and wandered back to the kitchen as Buffy pulled out the weapons chest. Before she could even open the lid, she heard Dawn scream and went running. 

She found her sister behind the kitchen island with a spatula in hand, facing a small man in a grey tailored suit, who looked not in the least bit fazed by Dawn's reaction. Buffy groaned. It was Whistler. What was _he_ doing here, in her own house? And how had he gotten in? The refrigerator was open behind him, and he was tossing a bottle of water from hand to hand. Buffy squeezed Dawn's shoulder, and Dawn relaxed but didn't drop her spatula. 

"You're raiding our refrigerator" Buffy said. "Now this looks familiar." 

"Your fridge is worse than the Watcher's." Whistler made a show of sneering at his loot. "What is this? Water? Water is for bathing, not drinking. Where's the good stuff?" 

"We don't, as a rule, keep alcohol in this house," Buffy retorted. "We also don't make a habit of having over weaselly demons who convince boyfriends to skip town." 

"Feel the love in this room." Whistler snorted, returned the water to the refrigerator and shut the door. "You should be thanking me. If it weren't for my intervention, you can guarantee that you'd have been running to the vamp at every turn, letting him do your dirty work. That path leads to only one place: Back to the grave." He grinned. "But look at you now. All tough and Slayer-y. Ready to beat the crap out of me. Just like the old days." 

Dawn looked perplexed. "Who is this guy?" 

Before Buffy could answer, Whistler stepped forward with hand extended. "I'm sorry. I forgot my manners. I'm Whistler, demon extraordinaire and a messenger for the Powers. You must be the Key." 

Dawn scowled and folded her arms in a pointed refusal to shake hands. Buffy grinned. That was her sister, all right. Stubborn and sullen to the last. Whistler withdrew his hand with a shrug. 

"What makes you think I'm the Key?" Dawn asked. 

"For one thing, you're practically radiating power. More so than even your red-headed wicca friend. Only the Key could have that much mystical strength. And for another, you weren't here a couple of years back, when the whole Acathla thing went down ... but, you were. I'm remembering it both ways. It's very confusing." 

Dawn smirked. "Well I'm happy to be the source of your confusion. I'm sure I could generate some more if you'd like." 

"Funny, kid. But we don't have time." He set both palms on the counter and leaned toward them, all business. Dawn's shoulders tensed under Buffy's hands. "You have about an hour, give or take, until the beginning of the end of the world, and you're still missing some information." 

"But I'm sure you're here to fill me in," Buffy prompted. 

"There are three parts to du Lac's spell. First, the spell itself. There's gotta be a focal point, a vampire who channels the magic through himself and into the Hellmouth." 

"The Big Man," Buffy said. "And you're wasting our precious time with things we already know." 

"Second," Whistler continued, ignoring Buffy's barb, "there are the other vampires. They're there for two purposes, to provide energy for the spell and to serve as food. Whatever comes out of the Hellmouth is going to be hungry, and if it doesn't feed quickly, it will die of starvation. Flesh of the undead makes for a good meal for things like that." 

"Eew, gross," Dawn muttered, echoing Buffy's thoughts. 

"So what's the third?" Buffy asked. 

"The blood-letting. The gateway won't open unless a vampire is bled dry and all that blood is fed into the Hellmouth. Of course, the lucky vamp turns to dust when nothing is left in his veins, so there's a very short list of volunteers for that job. I bet you can guess who drew the short straw." 

"Spike," Buffy answered, and Whistler nodded. She sighed and rubbed her hands over her eyes. Spike had risked his life to bring her vital information, and instead of thanking him, she had pushed him away, right into the hands of the enemy. Her own selfish, holier-than-thou attitude was about to get him killed. The man who had protected Dawn, who had loved Buffy even when she had rejected him. Who had made Buffy _feel_ again for the first time since her resurrection. 

Funny how only a couple of years before, she would have gleefully held the knife that slit Spike's wrists. Now the thought of his death brought an acute sadness, and an anger that he would dare to leave her again. 

Dawn turned a fierce glare on Whistler. "We won't let Spike die." 

"That's the whole idea, kid." 

"Hold it," Buffy interrupted, and faced Dawn. "There is no 'we' in this. You are not coming anywhere near the Hellmouth. Remember, we already covered this at the magic shop." 

"That was before, but they're going to hurt Spike. Now it's personal." 

"I won't put you in danger." 

"Come on, Buffy. I'm as old as you were when you were called to be Slayer. Plus, I'm the Key. Remember? Just a second ago, Whistler was talking about how _powerful_ I am. Even more powerful than Willow. And I've been doing spells. I worked with Willow on that locator spell to find Spike." 

"This is way more serious than a locator spell." 

"With Tara gone, Willow will need other backup. She hasn't channeled heavy magic for several weeks. She told me what happened while you guys were cleaning out a vamp nest only a few nights ago. She can't do this on her own." Dawn grabbed hold of Buffy's shoulders, as she only did at her most serious. "Admit it, Buffy. You _need_ me there. You can't risk failure just to keep me safe because if you lose, I'll die anyway." 

"She has a point," Whistler said. 

"Oh shut up." Buffy rubbed her eyes again. She was definitely developing a headache. "Fine. You can come, Dawn, to help Willow with whatever she needs. But you stay close to her, and at the first sign that things might be falling apart, you run. Got it?" 

Dawn grinned. "Got it. Um, what about him?" she asked, nodded toward Whistler. "Is he gonna fight the good fight, too?" 

"Hey, standing right here," Whistler said. "And for the record, I'm not allowed to join in the battle. I've done all I can. Now it's up to you." With one last smirk, he retreated to the back door and stepped outside, then looked back at the two sisters. Behind him, the rain fell, but still the western sky seemed on fire in brilliant reds and oranges. "Get the vamp out in one piece, OK? He's evil and annoying, and the cockiest bastard I've ever met, but he has one redeeming trait -- he'd do anything for you two, and that puts him in the good guy camp. He'd die for you. I hope you'd do the same for him." 

With that, Whistler was gone. Dawn looked blankly at the door, then at Buffy. 

"He said Spike was evil. I don't think he's evil." 

Buffy pondered that for a moment, then nodded. "I think you're right. He's amoral, and he's done downright stupid things, but he's not evil. Not anymore." 

"Not since he fell in love with you." 

"I guess that means I'm a good influence," Buffy said with a lopsided smile. She felt like laughing and crying, all at the same time, but held it in. The past 24 hours had been a roller-coaster of emotion, ever since Spike's return to Sunnydale. How had he wormed his way inside her, after she had spent so much energy and so many years pushing him away? 

Dawn asked, in a small voice, "Do you love him back?" 

This time, Buffy couldn't contain her laughter, and it exploded forth with a touch of the hysterical. "You're the second person tonight to ask me that." 

"And?" 

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. He left town before I had a chance to find out. And if he dies tonight ..." 

"He _won't_," Dawn said firmly. "We're getting him out." 

"Right. _We_ will get him out." Buffy pulled Dawn into a fierce hug, wiped away a couple of tears, and said, "Let's get out things and head out. The others are waiting." 

# 

At sunset, the first small packs of vampires snuck out of the mansion. They headed in different directions in groups of four or five, small enough to escape notice, all headed to the old high school. The Big Man hung back until the last of his horde had left, and he kept his main generals and his most precious prisoner with him. They had Spike on the numbingly cold floor in handcuffs. 

Spike worked his raw wrists at the metal but couldn't squeeze his hands through. He felt flushed, coursing with life from the blood they had given him not an hour ago. Human blood. He had grown accustomed to pigs blood from the butcher's shops, but it tasted like ashes when compared with the real thing. Ambrosia is what they had fed him. It made him feel strong, powerful. Yet still unable to free himself of the damned handcuffs. 

"Get him up," the Big Man ordered, and two burly vampires lifted Spike by his armpits. "We have a date at the Hellmouth. I would hate to be late." 

As before, Spike refused to cooperate and allowed his muscles to go lax, forcing the vamps to drag him outside into the rain. They threw him in the backseat of a black SUV and took their seats on either side of him. No chance for escape there, cuffed and trapped. The Big Man took the front passenger seat and another slid into the driver's seat. 

The trip took only a couple minutes by car, but it seemed even shorter. Before he knew what was happening, Spike found himself being dragged out to face the burned-out school. The crumbling walls, once so pristine, now were scorched black, and scraps of metal and wooden beams littered the muddy grounds. Vampires milled around like so many ants and, one by one, entered through a hole that gaped like a black mouth, but it might have once been a real doorway. Spike's guards dragged him toward the same entrance. 

They passed the charred skeleton of an enormous serpent, turned a corner, and entered the place Spike recognized as the former library. He remembered the last time he had been here. Buffy had averted an apocalypse that night, too, but he remembered the event more for his discovery that despite the chip, he could still harm demons. Buffy and the gang had faced only three nasties that night. Now the room was filled past capacity, all the occupants in game face, waiting for the final act. 

Spike's guards uncuffed him and chained him to a wall near the jagged chasm of the Hellmouth, then left, giving him plenty of time to get his bearings. Several portable battery-powered lamps were planted around the room, creating more than enough light. He could see far enough to notice that the cavelike expanse had only once exit, not counting the numerous holes in the roof. Rainwater dripped in, falling on everything and making it glitter in an unearthly way. 

Somehow, the scene looked familiar, like he should know this. Rain, leaking through the roof, spraying across the crowd ... his dream. He had dreamed this, but it had been at the Bronze. Dawn, with her eyes glowing emerald green, had cast spells; and a seductive Buffy had danced with him, her wet dress clinging to all the right curves -- before she had staked him. 

What did it mean? Had the Powers been warning him? Spike thought the danger of Buffy killing him had past with the near staking in the cemetery. But perhaps the worst was still to come. 

And where was she? The Slayer should have been there by now, busting in on the party and making all the bad guys dusty. Then again, she did tend to wait until the last second, appearing in a nick of time. Bloody annoying it was, but heroes did things like that. 

Spike watched as the crowd nearest to him parted and the Big Man walked in, a mammoth-sized book tucked under his arm. With his back to Spike, he laid the volume on a flat outcropping of rock, opened to a specific page and glanced at his watch. 

"Well now," he said with a smile over his shoulder for Spike, "I think it's time we begin." 

# 

The gang had been surprised to see Dawn return with Buffy to the magic shop, but the tension left Willow when she found out she would have backup, and Dawn puffed out her chest in pride. She had finally earned what she had yearned for, after so many years. She got to be an official Scooby and help save the universe, instead of contributing to its destruction. 

After Buffy relayed what Whistler had said, Xander and Anya went back to gathering together supplies, and Willow drew Dawn away to talk magic. Buffy couldn't tear her eyes from the pair, huddled close at the table. Nightmare scenarios raced through her mind. What if something happened to Dawn, and Buffy couldn't reach her in time? What if they saved the world but Buffy lost her only real family? Such a victory would never justify the price. 

As she watched, feeling as though her little sister was about to lose her last shred of innocence, broad hands spread over her shoulders from behind and started to massage. Buffy sighed and leaned into the touch, her concerns forgotten for a few treasured moments. Xander had such soothing hands. 

Buffy murmured, "Better hope Anya doesn't see you touching another woman like this." 

"Anya is busy collecting holy water and stakes. I was just getting in her way." He dug his fingers into her muscles. "You're so tense. Worried about Dawn?" 

"Is it that obvious?" 

"She'll do fine. I mean, we all survived years of demon slaying ... well, except for you, and we brought you back so that doesn't count." 

"Oh, thank you so much," Buffy said in mock sarcasm. 

Xander chuckled. "My point is that Dawn will get get through just fine, especially as she's with all of us. Willow and I will stay close. I promise." 

Buffy smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Xander." 

"And what about ... Spike?" 

"What about him?" 

"I don't mean to push, but if ... no _when_ we get him out of there, what then? Are the two of you going to start ... dating, or something?" 

Buffy smiled grimly. "That thought just scares the crap out of you, doesn't it?" 

Xander's hands stopped for a moment, then continued to work their magic. "Yeah, I guess it does. I mean, I'll deal with whatever you want, but he's still a soulless vampire who has tried to turn us all into a meal on several occasions. It'd take some getting used to. But Dawn seems to like him, and so does Anya. Willow's on the bubble, but she'd support you, too. That's what friends do." 

"What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?" 

"Just keep being Buffy, and that's enough." 

Buffy couldn't think of how to answer that, so she simply turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face in his shoulder. Then with a regretful sigh, she stepped away and addressed the group. "We can't waste anymore time. We have to get going. Wil, are you and Dawn ready to go?" 

"We're ready," Willow said, and Dawn gave the thumbs up. 

"Anya, got everything you need?" 

"Holy water ... stakes ... combustible, vampire-charring powder. Check. Check. Check." As she ticked off each item, she heaved another backpack onto the floor, each one puffed up like an overstuffed pillow. "It's all there, just like you asked. But I'm not carrying it." 

# 

Their trek across town proved uneventful, if not dry, much to Buffy's surprise. The muddy, debris-strewn yard outside the school also was empty of vampires. Buffy, with stake in hand and Dawn at her elbow, kept scanning the scene, trying to see through the rain and the dark. If the Big Man had Spike as his hostage, he must have guessed the Slayer would show. So where was the trap? 

"No guards?" Xander said, while tossing a small bottle of holy water between his hands. "This is creepy. And wrong. This is very wrong." 

"They must all be inside," Willow said. "I mean, the Big Man is going to want everyone he has by the Hellmouth." 

"I guess," Xander answered, but he didn't sound convinced. 

They approached the building warily and entered. With its wrecked roof, the interior provided little shelter from the storm. Buffy's soaked clothes clung to her in uncomfortable ways, but she tried to forget that and focus on the important things: Apocalypse, Spike, saving the world. Yet again. 

Chanting echoed down the halls, the words muffled through so much concrete and rock. The seductive rhythm of it sunk into them, and Buffy noticed her friends walking in time to its beat. 

"I wish they'd shut up," Dawn said, and wrapped her arms around herself. 

No one answered. 

They passed the body of the mayor, and Buffy knew they were close. The chanting had grown to a deafening level. They huddled together. 

"You all know what to do ... are you ready for this?" Buffy asked. 

They all nodded nervously. Anya opened their packs and passed around their weapons. Willow gently lifted a small, opaque orb from her coat pocket. 

"Remember, Buffy," Willow said, "We'll only be able to hold your force field for a few minutes at most. Our own will hold just fine, but because you'll be moving farther away from the orb ..." 

"I know. I'm on a deadline." 

Willow nodded and licked her lips. 

Buffy looked at her sister. "Ready, Dawn?" 

For an answer, Dawn engulfed her in an embrace. "Be careful. And get Spike out in one piece, OK?" 

"I will." Buffy stroked Dawn's hair for a moment, then pulled away. "All right then. Let's do it." 

They marched around the last corner and into the rocky expanse that used to be the library. Light flooded even the deepest recesses, making the room bright as day. Buffy blinked to adjust her vision, then gaped. Vampires packed the room, wall to wall, numbering well over the hundred Willow had predicted. None had noticed the Scoobies yet, as they all faced the jagged crack in the rock, chanting and swaying in time. Green mist spilled out from the Hellmouth. 

Then, through the mass of bodies, Buffy spotted her target. Not a few feet from the Hellmouth, Spike was immobilized against the wall. His eyes slid toward the group and met Buffy's for an instant before darting away. Despite the bad situation, Buffy felt a wash of relief. Spike was still alive and seemed in possession of all his blood. They weren't too late. 

Behind her, Willow and Dawn finished chanting their own spell, and suddenly around them Buffy sensed a wall of energy that make the tiny hairs on her arms stand on end. 

"Force field is a go," Willow said, her voice strained. 

But Buffy hardly heard. Her attention riveted to a small man standing before Spike ... no, a child. Buffy shiveredas she recalled the Anointed One. The boy held a knife in his hand, raised it above his head and yelled out something Buffy couldn't understand. Then he slid the knife across Spike's neck. Blood began to flow, dripping onto the floor, sliding toward the Hellmouth as though drawn by a magnet. Spike slumped forward. 

"NO!" Buffy screamed. 

The chanting stopped. All eyes turned toward them. 

Behind her, Anya said, "Oh, now we're in trouble." 

# 

TBC ... 


	12. "It was a team effort"

**Title:** Abandoned, chapter 12  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  
**Spoilers:** Through "Tabula Rasa"  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** R -- for language and nongraphic sex  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  


# 

For one interminable moment, no one moved. Buffy couldn't take her eyes off Spike, who slumped against his chains as blood spilled from his neck wound and into the Hellmouth. The rest of the Scoobies stood paralyzed under the gaze of hundreds of vampire eyes. The vampires, for their part, stared in dumb amazement at the party-crashers, unable to comprehend that a rag-tag group of humans dared to challenge them with nothing more than holy water and stakes. 

The moment stretched on, until the Big Man broke from his fury and surprise at the interruption and yelled, "Kill them!" 

The words released Buffy from her immobility, and she dived into the mass of undead. Willow and Dawn's force field pushed bodies out of her way before she could pummel them. They went sprawling after colliding with the field, opening an easy path. She took advantage of it and raced across the room toward Spike. 

Dawn half-watched her sister's progress but worried more about the sudden rush of vampires coming at the rest of the group. They huddled together under the second force field as vamps clawed at the invisible wall and roared in frustration. Dawn screamed as one jumped at her from the side and was halted only inches from her shoulder. Willow had taught her a smaller defense spell at the magic shop, how to spark a fire; she wanted to use that now but the necessary words had flown from her head. 

So she clung to Willow's hand, the only thing keeping her grounded, and fiercely concentrated on the primary spell. Her job was to supply energy and power, and it seemed to be helping Willow keep up her strength against the onslaught. Still, all color had drained from Willow's face, and she seemed to be standing by determination alone. 

"Can we throw things at them through the force field?" Anya yelled over the din. 

"Yes!" Willow said through gritted teeth. 

"Right then. Here goes." 

Anya and Xander started hurling vials of holy water. The vampires that were hit clutched at their blistered faces and bodies and ran screaming. But where one was defeated, another took his place. When the holy water ran out, Xander grabbed a small pouch and waited for Anya to spark it with a lighter before he lobbed it into the fray. It exploded and set fire to several vamps, who bumped into others and spread the flames. A couple of the more unfortunate vampires quickly burned into nothing. 

Anya did a little hop of satisfaction. "That worked well. Let's do it again." 

At Anya's side, Willow cried out and dropped to her knees. Dawn followed her down and held her steady. 

"Can't ... hold ... it," Willow rasped. "Buffy ... too far ... away ..." 

Dawn looked out and caught a glimpse of golden hair. Buffy had almost made it to Spike, but the vampires were hardly paying her any mind now. They seemed more interested in running from Xander and Anya's flying fire bombs. Dozens of undead were fleeing past the Scoobies and toward the exit. 

"Just a few more seconds!" Dawn said. Once Buffy reached Spike, Willow would have to drop the force field anyway so Buffy could free him. 

"'M trying ..." 

Willow doubled over, her breath coming in short gasps. 

Dawn strained to re-locate her sister but couldn't. "Xander, where is she?" 

"She's reached Spike!" he answered as he let loose another fire bomb. 

"Now, Willow," Dawn yelled. "Let it go now!" 

Buffy felt it the moment the force field went down, right as she stood at Spike's side. Thank God Willow had held on that long. She hated to think what the effort had cost her friend and her sister, but she didn't have time to worry about it right then. Spike's chin lolled forward onto his chest, and he didn't look to be conscious. Blood still flowed from his neck. 

"Spike!" she screamed, and kicked at a vampire who rushed her from behind. "Spike, can you hear me! Look at me!" 

He didn't move. She slapped his face, and his head jerked up. He looked even more pale than usual. Almost translucent. 

"Buffy ..." he murmured, then passed out again. 

"Dammit!" Buffy kicked back at another charging vampire, then grabbed hold of the chain around Spike's chest and pulled. The metal gave slowly, and finally one link broke and Spike fell forward into her arms. She eased him down, propped him against the wall. They had to stop the bleeding. She ripped off his shirt and pressed it against his neck. 

She slapped him again, an Spike's eyes opened. 

"Stay awake this time," she ordered, and moved one of his hands over his wound. "Hold the shirt there. Understand? Stop the bleeding." 

"Got it," he slurred. 

Buffy didn't have time for more. Her Slayer senses screamed danger, and she spun around, only to find herself facing the child-vampire who had slit Spike's throat. The vampire growled and -- though he only reached in height to Buffy's chest -- he charged her. Buffy swatted him back easily. 

"You must be the Big Man," she said. "I thought you'd be ... well, bigger." 

"You've ruined it all!" he yelled. 

"Good." 

"I might not get the Hellmouth, but at least I can still kill you, Slayer." 

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Oh my _God_, can you be any more cliche? I mean, at least think of something more original to --" 

The Big Man gestured, and something stabbed Buffy from behind. She screamed. Hot pokers seared her skin. She clawed at her back but encountered nothing. Magic. Had to be. The unseen attack stabbed at her stomach, and she whimpered and doubled over. 

"Buffy's in trouble!" Dawn screamed, pointing across the room as her sister fell to her knees before the child-vampire. The look on her face was agony. "We've got to help her! Willow, do something!" 

"Can't. Gotta ... hold the force field ..." 

"Xander," Dawn pleaded, "throw one of your bombs!" 

He tried but came up short. "They're too far away." 

"But we have to do something!" Dawn said as Buffy rolled to the floor and went into spasms. Behind her, Spike was struggling to move but was too weak. "We have to help her or she'll die!" 

Willow rasped, "Dawn, the other spell ... I taught ... fire ..." 

"But I can't remember the words," she said helplessly and started to cry. 

"_Yanma ... dogmus ..._" 

Willow's words brought it back to her. Dawn focused on the child- vampire and yelled out, "_Yanma dogmus onem benim arzu_!" 

At first nothing happened, and Dawn feared she had said the words wrong. After all, she didn't even know what they meant. Then she saw a tendril of smoke snake up from the rocks below the boy's feet; he did not notice as he continued his magic torment of Buffy. Suddenly, the ground around him exploded into green flames, and he screamed and jumped away. The fire quickly extinguished, leaving hardly a mark on the boy, but his concentration had been broken. 

Spike watched the entire scene in anguish, unable to do anything. He had stanched the bleeding, but his limbs felt rubbery and useless. Finally, he managed to struggle into a crawl position and started inching toward the Big Man, who was oblivious to all except torturing Buffy. Then the fire exploded from nowhere, and Big Man jumped directly in front of Spike. 

With his only reserve of energy, Spike shoved out with both hands and connected with the Big Man. The boy yelled in surprise and went stumbling backward, unable to catch his balance. Spike's momentum carried him forward, and his face slapped painfully against the floor. He couldn't rise again, but he didn't need to. He watched from his helpless position as the Big Man slipped backward on the rain-slick rock and plunged into the Hellmouth. 

"Take that you bloody poof!" he yelled, but the Big Man was gone. 

Those few vampires who hadn't already burned up or escaped the melee thought better of hanging around after their leader's fatal fall. They raced past the Scoobies and away from the Hellmouth. The battle was over. 

# 

At first, Buffy didn't realize that the torture had ended, only that she hurt all over and couldn't stop her muscles from shaking. She heard screaming that wasn't her own. The Big Man. Then it stopped. Something had made him stop. She couldn't bring herself to move for a long time. 

"Slayer. Buffy ..." she heard Spike's voice from far away. "Open your eyes, luv." 

She obeyed with great effort. The world came into focus, and she found herself not lying beside the Hellmouth but on something soft. Her bed, with lots of pillows. Spike sat in a chair beside her night stand, his chin resting on his folded hands. He wore a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt -- probably a loan from Xander -- and gazed down at her in obvious relief. 

"Welcome back, pet." 

"How long ..." 

"About six hours since you and your pals saved the world. It'll be sunrise soon." 

"Oh." 

Six hours. It had never taken her that long to recover from a battle before -- except of course for her summer in the grave. Buffy rolled over to stretch her aching body and bumped into something large. She looked back, only to see her sister curled up on the edge of the bed with Mr. Gordo. Sound asleep, drooling on Buffy's pillow. 

"Your sis had a long night, too," Spike said. "From what I'm told, we wouldn't have gotten out alive if not for her." 

"She's not hurt, is she?" 

"She's fine. In better shape than you are." 

"And what about you?" 

Spike quirked a smile. "Got some blood back in me. You owe me another shirt, but I'll be fine, too." 

"Willow? Xander and Anya?" 

"Red is out cold. Xander and his demon girl are with her in the other bedroom. I guess the magic was a bit much for her." 

"I should check on them," Buffy said, and sat up too quickly. A wave of nausea washed over her, and she clutched at her stomach. 

"Careful, luv. You shouldn't push yourself." 

"I'm fine. Just help me up." 

Spike took her outstretched arms and gently lifted her to her feet. She knew if she let go, she would go sprawling. So Buffy leaned heavily on him, and they took it slowly across the hall. 

"Hey, the hero is awake!" Xander exclaimed as Buffy and Spike entered the room. Xander sat beside Willow on the bed, and Anya was asleep in a chair in the corner. 

Buffy grimaced. "I'm not the hero. I needed you guys to save me this time." 

"Which we did. Well, Dawn and Spike did. It was a team effort." 

At her side, Spike puffed out his chest a bit. Funny, she thought, how a soulless demon would enjoy playing the part of the hero. She liked him like that. He helped her to the bed, and Buffy gratefully eased onto it. 

"How's Willow?" 

"Asleep. There's been no change. I think she just needs to recharge her batteries. Those force field spells took a lot out of her." 

"But she pulled through," Buffy said, proud of her friend. "You all pulled through." 

"Yeah, even Spike there --" Xander looked behind Buffy and his eyes widened. "Hey, where did he go?" 

Buffy twisted around, to see that Spike indeed had vanished. She struggled to her feet, feeling a bit stronger and with Xander's help stumbled out to the hallway. The vampire was nowhere in sight. While Buffy stayed with Willow, Xander searched the rest of the house and came back up a few minutes later to report. 

"He's gone. Slipped out, I guess. You don't think he's decided to leave again, do you? I would have thought after all that went down tonight that he was going to hang around. Besides, he can't leave until he gives back my shirt." 

Any warm relief Buffy had felt at their victory drained away, leaving her feeling cold and hollow. She had told him to leave, that night in the cemetery. Now that the danger was over, she and Dawn weren't in peril any longer ... 

Buffy curled up beside Willow, fresh tears welling forth. 

"He could have just gone back to his crypt," Xander said. "He might have wanted to get there before the sunrise." 

"No. He would have said something. Not just vanished." She looked helplessly at Xander. "He's gone." 

# 


	13. Epilogue

**Title:** Abandoned, epilogue  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandom:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer  
**Spoilers:** Through "Tabula Rasa"  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** R -- for language and nongraphic sex  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  


# 

Saturday night meant a crowd at the Bronze, slick hot bodies grinding on the dance floor and jostling for attention at the bar. A curious stench of alcohol and smoke pervaded everything, and the band onstage played loud enough to drown out most conversation. For an hour, the gang had lounged in their regular corner, away from the craziness, laughing, smiling, poking fun at Dawn because she alone was too young to drink. Finally, Dawn had gone to visit the ladies' room, and Xander, Anya and Willow had jumped to the dance floor, and Buffy found the moment for her escape. 

She climbed to the empty balcony, above the smoky haze, and relished her moment alone. She leaned against the metal railing and simply let the world pass over her, pretended she was an observer for a while instead of a participant. No wonder Giles had enjoyed his role as Watcher so much. There was a definite allure to apathy. 

Not that Buffy had sunk back into an unfeeling depression. No, she had about as much emotion as she could handle, just not of the happy, hills- are-alive variety. Down on the dance floor, Dawn had joined the gang, and they were all grins. They were still basking in their post-battle giddiness, and Buffy was happy for them. 

But all her own smiling made her jaw ache. Two weeks had passed since the battle, since the Big Man had fallen into the Hellmouth and Spike had vanished for the second time. It felt more like two years. For so long she had wanted Spike out of her life, and now she only wanted to hear his voice again. _And much more than that,_ she admitted to herself. 

Down below, Dawn had stopped dancing and was scanning the crowd on her tip-toes. She looked up, spotted Buffy and waved. Buffy waved back. Dawn yelled something to Xander, then headed toward the balcony stairs. 

"Whatcha doing up here?" she asked as she joined Buffy at the railing. She peered at the mass of humanity below them. "Nice view. You can see everything from up here." 

"I just needed to get away for a couple of minutes," Buffy replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "I'm not really up for dancing tonight, anyway. Oh, but I don't want that to interfere with your fun. So you should go ... have fun, I mean." 

Dawn gave her a funny look. "You're doing it again." 

"Doing what?" 

"Pretending to be happy just to make us feel better." 

"No, I'm not." 

"Yes, you are." 

"No, I'm --" Buffy sighed. "I'm fine. Really, Dawn. Promise." 

They stood silent for a few minutes, watching the crowd. Buffy stared at an attractive couple near the stairs who couldn't keep their hands off each other. They reminded her of the night she had kissed Spike at the Bronze, and of the following night in his crypt. She had asked him what he wanted, and he had given her an answer as surprising at it was beautiful. _I want to see you smile again. A truly free and happy smile._ She had known then that she could entrust her heart to him and everything would turn out all right. Rarely had she been so mistaken. 

Beside her Dawn swayed a little to the music, then started humming along. _Like a little kid_, Buffy thought, and smiled. At least she and Dawn would always have each other, no matter who else drifted in and out of their lives. They would always be together. 

The song ended. Buffy's gaze strayed randomly toward the stage, but then Dawn gasped and grabbed at her sister's sleeve. She was pointing frantically at the front door. 

"Oh my God, Buffy look!" 

It didn't take her long to spot him, striding into the club like he owned the place. He had bleached his hair and wore the black duster, looking much more like his old self than last time they had met. Buffy froze as she watched him, hardly daring to breathe. Her heart pounded and blood rushed in her ears. 

Dawn squealed. "He's back! Do you think he's going to stay this time? Because if not, we're going to have to chain him up to keep him from running away again." 

She started moving past Buffy, but Buffy caught her arm. 

"Where are you going?" 

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Where do you think?" 

"Stay here," Buffy said, more a request than an order. 

"But--" 

"He'll find us soon enough," she said, her eyes straying back to Spike. "He always does." 

As though on cue, Spike paused in the center of the club and looked up. Dawn started waving enthusiastically, but Buffy knew Spike hadn't even seen her sister. His eyes were on her alone, and even at that distance, Buffy could see his uncertainty and regret. That moment lasted what seemed forever, then Spike saw Dawn and grinned. He waved back and headed toward the stairs. 

Buffy gripped the railing until her knuckles turned white. She could feel him approaching but couldn't bring herself to turn around. Not yet. First she had to calm down, get herself collected. She absolutely would not let him see how much his disappearance had hurt her. 

"Spike!" Dawn squealed and engulfed him in a hug. 

"Hey, Nibblet," he said softly, affectionately, and returned the embrace before stepping back. "Mind if I have a few moments alone with your sis?" 

"Oh! No, it's fine," Dawn said hurriedly. "I'll just go down and find Xander and Anya and Willow. No problem." 

Buffy watched Dawn run down the stairs and push her way through the crowd to their friends. She gestured excitedly and pointed at the balcony, and several pairs of amazed eyes turned on Buffy. She blushed. 

"Let's move away from the railings, pet," Spike said. "We don't need an audience for this." 

She turned to face him and folded her arms. "Don't need an audience for what, Spike? Your next vanishing act?" 

He winced. "Buffy, I'm sorry. I know that doesn't make up for leaving again, but I had to. I didn't have a choice." 

"Do you realize how much it hurt Dawn? When she woke up and found that you had already left? She cried for hours." 

"And what about you?" 

"What about me?" 

"Did you cry?" 

Buffy wanted to lie, to tell him, no, she hadn't cried. She hadn't shed one tear or thought about him a moment since. She hadn't feared for his pathetic life when the Big Man had slit his throat. She never dreamed about his broad hands touching her bare skin. 

But the plea in his eyes was so earnest, so hopeful. 

Buffy admitted defeat. 

"Yes, I cried. Yes, I missed you. Happy now? You're good to have around in a fight, and I know I can always trust you with Dawn, and --" 

Her rambling stopped abruptly as Spike took two long strides forward and smashed his lips against hers. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. He was demanding, desperate, his hands grabbing her shoulders to roughly pull her closer. Buffy found herself responding in kind, letting loose the pent-up frustration and pain and taking it all out on him. She bit at his lower lip, and he groaned into her mouth. 

Just as suddenly, he pulled away, leaving her stunned and breathless. 

"Buffy, I have to apologize to you," he said. "I did what I thought I had to, to save you. But I recently realized something important. No matter what, the Powers can't control us. They say I'll be the death of you. Literally. But we make our own future, and I want to be a part of yours. And Dawn's. If you'll still have me." 

She chuckled. "How many times did you practice that speech?" 

"Only a couple of times." He smiled as she raised her eyebrows. "OK, maybe about a hundred. I wanted to get it right." 

"You got it right, Spike." 

He leaned in closer, his lips a breath away from hers. "Forgive me?" 

"No," she murmured, and he stared at her in disbelief. "You abandoned me, and Dawn, and everything we were building up to. You told me that night we spent together that I couldn't walk away after that, but you're the one who walked away, and it killed me." She fixed him with her most serious look. "I can't forgive you for leaving me, Spike. Not ever. But I will give you something else you want." 

He asked, warily, "And that is?" 

She reached her fingers into his hair and pulled his lips down to hers. This time, she controlled the kiss, and she made it last. Deep, leisurely, enjoying the sensation of his mouth, the smell of smoke and leather, the gentle caress of his palm on her neck. She trailed tiny kisses up his neck, to his ear, and whispered, "Try to leave me again, and I'll hunt you down and stake you. Got it?" 

His body shook with silent laughter. "Not the most romantic proposal I've ever had, but--" 

"Got it, Spike?" 

"Of course, pet." 

"Good. Then come downstairs with me. I'm sure the others are dying to know what's going on up here." 

"Just as long as Xander doesn't try to stake me." 

"He won't. But he does want his shirt back." 

"What, that bloody awful Hawaiian thing?" 

They continued their banter as they descended the stairs, but Buffy mostly focused on his hand tightly clasped in hers. It almost felt warm. Dawn rushed to meet them, the others close behind. As Buffy greeted her friends, for the first time since clawing her way out of her grave, she felt that maybe this living thing might not turn out so badly after all. Maybe she could even learn to like it. 

For the first time in months, Buffy gave her friends a truly free and happy smile. 

The end. 

Author's note: You made it to the end! Bless you! Before putting this story to bed, I want to thank everyone who took a couple moments to send me feedback, and to all of you who showed so much patience with my weeks- long bouts of writer's block. I hope that wading through to the end of this piece was worth every second of your precious time. 

-- Jennifer 


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